

























































COPYRIGHT DEPOSE 







































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Haratg ffajwfi 

©r (BUmpses of 
■Romance tn tbe iRealrn of jfact 


BY 

CHARLES CARROLL MORGAN 

it 


Revised Edition 



©If* 3fnrt 35UI ?r*00 

Samuel Usher 
17 0 high street, boston, mass. 





Copyright, 1917 

By Charles Carroll Morgan 



APR 12 1917 

©Ci. Alt! 2157 

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Hriitrattmt 


TO THE 

FORTNIGHTLY CLUB OF NASHUA, NEW HAMPSHIRE, THIS 
LITTLE VOLUME IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED BY 
ITS AUTHOR, IN GRATEFUL ACKNOWLEDG¬ 
MENT OF HIS AGREEABLE RELATIONS 
WITH THE CLUB FOR MORE 
THAN TWENTY YEARS 










jlrrfar? 

The following papers were written at various times from 
1887 to 1905. Except the one on “ The World of Invention/’ 
they were addressed originally to the Fortnightly Club of 
Nashua, N. H., an organization of which the writer has been 
a member from its birth. In accordance with the wishes of 
the Club, the papers were meant to instruct as well as to 
please. A few of them, therefore, may be found a little more 
didactic than is usual with productions intended for popu¬ 
lar reading. All have been carefully revised; yet, in sub¬ 
stance, they remain nearly the same as at first. 

As a desire for the publication of some of these papers 
has been repeatedly expressed, the author has seen fit to 
embody them in the present volume. He will be much 
pleased if they are found more widely useful than he 
anticipated. 











(Hmtmtz 


i 

THE CITY OF THE GOLDEN HORN 

The impressive aspect of Constantinople, 1; A classic tradition 
respecting the Bosporus, 1; The Golden Horn, 1-2; The several 
quarters of the city, 2; Its strange mixture of populations, 2; 
Cosmopolitan character of Constantinople, 2; Picturesque 
variety of its scenery, 3; Prominence of its mosques, 3; Its 
Byzantine architecture, 3; Remarkable concourse on Galata 
Bridge, 4; De Amicis' description of the motley throng, 4-6; 
Its polyglot character, 6; Charming view from Galata Bridge, 6; 
Wonderful history of Constantinople, 6; Its numerous sieges, 7; 
Mohammed II and the Janissaries, 7; Thrilling incidents in the 
capture of the city, 7-8; Sign-manual of the sultan, 8; Impor¬ 
tance of the fall of Constantinople, 9; Its sequence in the Revival 
of Learning and the Reformation, 9; The Moslem faith and its 
influence, 9; The Koran and the Bible, 10; Mohammedan sects, 
11; Islam may open the door to Christianity, 12; The sultan as 
head of the Mohammedan church, 12; His sacred procession on 
Friday, 12; His personal appearance, 12; Precedence of the 
sultan's mother, 12; Women of the harem, 13; The sultana, 13; 
Private mosque of the sultan, 13; Yildiz Kiosk, or the Palace of 
the Star, 14; Mosques, built by sultanas, 14; Their architecture, 
14; Calls to prayer, 14; Sancta Sophia, its history, enrichment 
and magnificence, 14-16; Destruction of its Christian features, 
16; Its present Moslem features, 16; Its sacred symbols and 
furnishings, 17; Exterior of Sancta Sophia, 17; Its capacity for 
the accommodation of worshipers, 18; Its cost, 18; Prominent 
events in its history, 18; Mosque of Eyoub, 19; Mosque of 
Mohammed II, 19; Mosque of Suleiman the Magnificent, 19; 
Mosque of Ahmed, 19; Mosque of the Holy Mantle, 20; Tombs of 
the sultans, 20; Magnificent tomb of Mahmoud II, etc., 20; Via 

vii 


Contents 


• • • 

Vlll 

Sacra of tombs, 20; Eyoub Cemetery, and the prospect thence 
down the Golden Horn, 20; Sultan’s palaces, 21; The Palace of 
Dolma Bagtche, 21; Professor Grosvenor’s description of its splen¬ 
dors, 22; Its occupancy by Mourad V, brother of the present 
sultan, 23; Palace on the Asiatic shore, 23; The old Seraglio, 23; 
The Imperial Gate, 23; Court of the Janissaries, 24; Enormous 
plane-tree, 24; Destruction of the Janissaries, 24; The Gate of 
Peace, 24; Hall of the Divan, 24; The Gate of Felicity, 24; Its 
procession of beauties of the harem, 25; Hall of the Throne, 25; 
Royal treasure-house, 25; Imperial Museum, 26; Wonderful 
sarcophagus, 26; Terraced gardens, 26; Oriental civilization and 
culture in Constantinople, 26; Prospects of Turkish improve¬ 
ment, 27; Achievements of Mahmoud II, the reformer, 27; 
Abdul Medjid and his Magna Charta, 27; The Treaty of Berlin, 
28; “ No faith with an infidel,” 28; Abdul Medjid’s intentions, 
28; How far the rule of “ No faith,” etc., is to be regarded, 29; 
Moslem disposition as to religious tolerance, 29; Missionary views 
as to prospects in the East, 29; Hindrances to Turkish progress, 
29; Opposition to reforms, by the Old Turkish Party, 29; Dangers 
to the Sultan, 29; Grounds for hope, 30; Influence of com¬ 
merce and improved means of communication, 30. 

II 

CLIMBING MONT BLANC IN A SNOWSTORM 

Swiss guides, 31; Loss of lives in Alpine ventures, 31; Reti¬ 
cence of Swiss newspapers, 31; Government safeguards, Organ¬ 
ization of guides, Marking places of accidents, 31; Visit to 
Grindelwald Glacier, 31; Accident to the writer’s sister, 31; 
Her rescue and after-experience, 32; Accidents to others in the 
vicinity, 32; Grindelwald path, 32; Trip to Martigny, past 
Castle of Chillon, 33; Mountain districts, the nurseries of religious 
faith, 33; Over Tete-Noir Pass to Chamouni, 33; Toilsome lives 
of Swiss mountaineers, 33; Mont Blanc in clouds, 34; Clearing 
weather, 34; Crossing the Mer de Glace, 34; View' from the 
Chateau, 34; Descending by a lateral moraine, 34; Ascent of 
La F16g&re, 35; Superb view across the Vale of Chamouni, 35; 
Acquaintance with English ladies, 36; Party, for ascent of Mont 


Contents 


IX 


Blanc, 36; Our guides, etc., 37; Weather conditions and pros¬ 
pect, 37 ; Mule-back ride to Pierre Pointue, 37; Rest and refresh¬ 
ment, 37 ; Clothing and equipments, 37 ; Traversing rocky steeps, 
38; Members of party, roped together, 38; Description of the 
great Glacier des Bossons, 39; Struggling along the face of a 
perpendicular wall, 39; Climbing upon the glacier, 39; Cole¬ 
ridge's apostrophe to the glacier, 40; Thrilling emotions, 40; 
Protracted snowstorm, 40; Crossing yawning crevasses and 
narrow ice-bridges, 41 ; Difficulties with the snow, 41 ; Danger of 
fatality from slipping, 41; Vast avalanches, 41; Guides enjoin 
caution and silence, 41; Left to care for myself, 41; Vigilant 
watchfulness for the ladies, 41 ; Thrilling sense of responsibility, 
and fears for the ladies, 41; Wish myself back in Chamouni, 42; 
Regaining my composure, 42; Plodding through deepening 
snow, 42; Fitful sunshine and chills, 42; Strength of the ladies 
apparently giving out, 42; Rest and stimulus, 42; Resuming the 
ascent, Pyramids of the glaciers and their impressiveness, 43; 
Passing descending travelers, 43; Their apprehensions for the 
ladies, 43; Frightful crevasse to be crossed, 43; Courage and 
skill of our leading guide, 44; His preparations for crossing, 44; 
Perilous leap, 44; Rope secured on farther side, 44; Descending 
porters assist, 44; Courage of the ladies in leaping, 44-45; 
Dangling at a rope's end, 45; More stimulus, 46; Painful 
weariness and longing, 46; Fears at Chamouni for our safety, 46; 
The chalet at the Grands Mulets, 46; Our gratitude on entering 
its door, 46; The hostess and her efficiency, 47; Forbearance in 
“ roughing it," 47; The food and cheer, 47; Experiences of the 
hostess, and her care of the chalet, 47; A Russian traveler and 
his attempts to reach the summit, 47; How few ever get to the 
top, 48; Looking into the night, 48; The dreadful solitude, 49; 
My sleep and dreams, 49; A sunny morning, 49; An early start 
on our return, 49; A new and safer way, to be found out, 49; 
Keenness of Alpine guides, 49; A wild slide down the mountain¬ 
side, 49; Losing a flask, and its recovery, 49; Quickness and 
difficulties of the descent, 50; Peril, the spice of adventure, 50; 
Does climbing Mont Blanc pay? 50; The only way to enjoy its 
wonderful scenery, 50; Sublimity of the views, 50-51; God’s 
presence and the incomparable majesty of the prospect, 51; A 
personal choice, 51. 


X 


Contents 


hi 

WONDERS OF THE HUMAN MIND 

Milton's poetic ascription to the mind and its powers, 52; Its 
union with the body, 52; Consideration of its constitution in 
man, 52; Definition of mind, 52; Views of the ancients as to 
reason and the emotions, 52; References, in the Sacred Scrip¬ 
tures, to the heart and reins, 52; Reasons therefor, 52; Modern 
significance of the word, heart, 53; Principal grounds for dis¬ 
believing in existence of the human mind beyond the body, 53; 
Dependence of mental development upon the senses, 53; The 
brain, as the great organ of thought, 54; No evidence of thought 
during insensibility of the brain, 54; Apparent unconsciousness 
in sleep, 54; May death be a never-ending unconsciousness? 54; 
Does science afford an answer to inquiries of this nature? 54; 
Consequence of assuming that mind is wholly dependent on 
matter, 54; Indications, in the material universe, of the pre¬ 
existence of a designer and law-giver, 55; Conclusion as to a 
creative mind and a Divine Spirit, 55; Opposing view of the 
Pantheist, 56; General belief that man is a distinct entity, 56; 
Consideration, whether minds less than the divine are a mere 
outgrowth of matter and perishable with matter, 56; Whether 
intellectual or spiritual force will be less persistent than the 
physical forces of Nature, 57; Natural force never annihilated, 
57; Presumption from analogy respecting mental force, 57; 
May not the human mind be, in some measure, an involuntary 
creative agent? 57; May it not, from the dawn of its instinctive 
intelligence, have exercised a shaping power over the body? 57; 
Existence of such power, irrespective of the will, 58; Character, 
graven in lines of habitual expression, 58; Intellectual and moral 
traits, shown in the countenance, 58; Artists know how to indi¬ 
cate them, 58; Involuntary power of the emotional nature over 
the body, shown in many ways, 58; Numerous examples of such 
power, 58; Action of the mind, as a formative principle, demon¬ 
strated in heredity, 59; Case of heredity, in a seemingly intoxi¬ 
cated boy, 59; In a child with letters on the white of its eyeball, 
60; Dr. Dalton's statements respecting origin of various de¬ 
formities, etc., 60; Is it unreasonable to presume that the origin 
of species in the animal world results primarily from ancestral 


Contents 


xi 

conceptions of the need or desirableness of change? 61; May the 
origin of species in the vegetable and animal world be attributed 
to like causes? 61; Difference between vegetable and animal life, 
61; Our ability, through personal consciousness, to assert facts in 
animal nature, such as we cannot in vegetable, 62; No certainty 
that there is not a low form of intelligence in the vegetable 
world, 62; The JEtholium septicum and its apparent change from 
a vegetable to an animal state, 62; Difficulty of marking the 
separation between the vegetable and animal kingdoms, 63; Pro¬ 
fessor Gray's belief that it is “ of degree rather than of kind," 63; 
Is there any scientific ground for presuming that, in a future 
state, the soul may be able to clothe itself with a nobler body, — 
also for presuming grander attributes in such a body? 64; Science 
gives but a qualified answer, 65; Evidence from late researches 
in physico-psychology, 65; Views of theologians as to the resur¬ 
rection of the body, 65; Their confirmatory citations of Scripture, 
66; Mental operations under the guidance of the will, 66; Rank 
of the will among the mental faculties, 66; Its various offices 
66; Limitations of its authority, 66; Reflex action, 66; Illustra¬ 
tion and explanation of such action, 67; Dr. Carpenter's views on 
this subject, 67; References to the nerve structure of the centi¬ 
pede, etc., 67; Pairs of nerve trunks, 67; Nerve ganglia, 67; 
Sensation, 67; Volition, 67; Motion, 67; Seat of consciousness, 
68; Means of regulating and coordinating muscular movements, 
68; Mimstration of each ganglion of the nervous cord to the 
reflex action of its own segment of the cord, etc., 68; Curious 
results, in respect to the movements of the centipede, of decapi¬ 
tation,— of severance of the nerve trunk, midway,— and of 
removal of a cross section of the nerve trunk, 68, 69; Unavoidable 
inference that intelligent movements may result from reflex ac¬ 
tion, or may be purely automatic, 70; Similar facts respecting 
man, 70; Process of sucking, 71; Human walking, 71; Paralysis 
of the legs, from injury to the spinal cord, 71; Artificial induce¬ 
ment of reflex action of the legs when only the lower part of the 
spinal cord is sound, 91; Its occurrence without the injured 
person feeling or knowing it, 71; Internal processes carried on by 
reflex action, 72; Inference of some persons that man is a mere 
automaton, 72; Assertion of man's automatism by Henry G. 
Atkinson and Harriet Martineau, 72; Facts, opposed to such a 


Contents 


• • 

Xll 

conclusion, 73; Celerity of mental processes under guidance of the 
will, 73; Outrunning the memory, 73; Mathematical quickness 
of Zerah Colburn and his inability to remember processes, 74; 
Similar characteristics of Truman H. Safford, 74; “ The Mathe¬ 
matical Fool,” 74; Great mental quickness, under our daily 
observation, 74; Quickness of the pianist in rendering new music, 
74; His simultaneous regard, under volitional direction, for many 
different elements, 75; Mental activity in ordinary reading, 75; 
In elocutiomuy reading and acting, 75; Guidance of the vocal 
muscles, 75; Opinion of some writers that such guidance is 
chiefly automatic, 76; Reasons for deeming it but slightly 
automatic, 76; Extreme complexity of thought, under di¬ 
rection of the will, in stage performances, 76; Such exercise of 
mental powers, far beyond automatism, 77; Requisite com¬ 
plexity of thought, lessened, as a result of previous training; yet 
so intricate as to defy analysis, 77; Why no clearer recollection 
of trains of thought, 78; Faint impressions of what we have seen, 
made vivid by reminders, 78; Hidden tablets of the memory, 78; 
Small share of our store of thoughts immediately available, 79; 
Peculiar availability, under abnormal conditions, 79; Instance, 
in delirium, of the ready identification of persons by their foot¬ 
falls, 79; Repetition by illiterate servant, during nervous fever, 
of what she had heard in unknown tongues, 79; Conclusions from 
the foregoing, 79-80; Additional reasons for opinion that move¬ 
ments of the muscles in speech are not chiefly automatic, 80; 
Somnabulism, 80; Somnambulic translation of Sophocles, in the 
dark, 81; Apparent vision, with closed eyes, in somnabulism, 81; 
A partial explanation suggested, 81; Instance of ecclesiastic's 
reading and correcting sermons in the dark, 81; Help, in marking 
corrections, from exalted muscular sense, 82; Enhanced activity 
of the guiding senses, in somnabulism, 82; Test of young lady, in 
somnabulic state, by Dr. Hammond, 82; Proof that her spinal 
cord was awake and probably guiding, in good part, her actions, 
83; Dr. Hammond's conviction respecting the spinal cord as a 
center of intellection and volition, 83; Its occasional mastery over 
the brain, 83; Mental phenomena in mesmeric, hypnotic and 
clairvoyant states, 83; Investigations of mesmerism, and con¬ 
sequent views respecting it, 84; Powers of the mesmeric operator, 
84; Subtle suggestions from the operator, 84; Thought transfer- 


Contents 


Xlll 


ence, 85; Inexplicable perceptions of the mesmeric or hypnotic 
subject, 85; Doubts, caused by imposture, 85; Removal of 
doubts, only by rigorous tests and scientific proofs, 85; Investi¬ 
gations of the Society for Psychical Research, 85; Gladstone’s 
opinion of the importance of its work, 86; Illustrative case of 
clairvoyance, mentioned in Wayland’s Mental Philosophy, 86; 
Case of “X + Y=Z, or the Sleeping Preacher,” 86; Testimony 
as to the genuineness of his manifestations, 86; Result of Dr. 
Hodgson’s inquiries about him, 87; His standing as a member of 
the Presbytery, 87; His preternatural sight, conversations, 
religious discourses and writings, while in a clairvoyant state, 87- 
88; His discovery of lost articles beyond his view, without aid — 
so far as appears — of thought transference, 88; Other records 
of clairvoyant vision, 88; Trial of powers between two Indian 
medicine-men, 89; Death of one, apparently at command of the 
other, 89; Important evidence afforded by the foregoing, if true, 
89; Likelihood of the event, in view of the influence of possible 
fright and superstition, added to that of mesmeric power, 89; 
Occasional operation of the mind, beyond the body, undeniable 
without rejection of evidence which seems hardly controvertible, 
90; Undeniable that sometimes, in an abnormal state, the mind 
shows powers seemingly incredible, 90; Question as to such 
evidence showing that the soul is not wholly dependent upon the 
body, 90; Also showing that it may survive the body and rise to 
a higher state, 90; Present opportuneness of such evidence, 90. 

IV 

THE WORLD OF INVENTION 

Civilization, incidental to invention, 91; Original incentives to 
invention, 91; Universality of inventions in the world of progress, 
91; Man’s primitive condition, 91; Its deplorableness, without 
inventions, 91; Regard for inventions, shown in ancient religions, 
92; Minerva, the Goddess of the Arts, 92; Her products, 92; 
Her relations to the state, 92; Her place, beside the Supreme 
Deity, 92; Vulcan, the celestial artificer, etc., 92; Mercury, a 
divine inventor, etc., 92; Faith that the gods delighted in inven¬ 
tions, 93; Choicest boons of the gods, 93; Lingering traces of such 
superstition, 93; Belief of the alchemists, 93; Its relation to the 


XIV 


Contents 


Bible records of the ages of patriarchs, 93; The Elixir of Life, 
93; The Philosopher’s Stone, 93; The Eternal Lamp, 93-94; 
Supposed invocation of spirits by inventors, 94; Ban of the 
church against alchemists, 94; Royal favor, shown to some in¬ 
ventors, in hope of enrichment, 94; Count Bernard of Treviso, 
94; Sir Raymond Lully, 94; His relations with sovereigns, 94; 
His claim to the transmutation of base metals into gold, 94; 
His imprisonment, escape and death, 94; Valuable discoveries 
and inventions of the alchemists, 95; Their art, associated with 
what was proscribed, 95; Presumed aid from evil spirits, 95; 
Severe treatment of inventor of a flying machine, 95; Of inventor 
of an automaton writing boy, 95; Of inventor of an automaton 
guitar-player, 95; Little encouragement of early inventors, 95; 
No laws securing to them the fruits of their ingenuity, 95; Secrecy 
brought them under evil suspicion, 95; Working classes, inflamed 
against them, 96; Fears of rulers respecting labor-saving inven¬ 
tions, 96; Lee and his stocking frame, 96; Queen Elizabeth with¬ 
holds support from him, 96; Promised favor of Henry IV of 
France fails, 96; James I of England refuses him a patent, 96; 
His sad end, 96; Public assertion in 1624 of the rights of inventors 
to protection, 97; “The Statute of Monopolies,” 97; Patents, 
granted before by royal caprice, 97; Patents for new and useful 
inventions, a right under the common-law, 97; Nature of pro¬ 
tection, under “ the Statute of Monopolies,” 97; This protection 
marks an epoch in the history of the arts, 98; From what it 
resulted, 98; How partly induced, 98; Invention of the art of 
printing, 98; Its first products, 98; Its influence, reciprocal with 
that of the revival of learning, 98; Help, from improvements in 
the manufacture of paper, 98; Books, supplied to the common 
people, 99; Important coincidence of the capture of Constanti¬ 
nople and the flight thence of Greek scholars, 99; Diffusion of 
classic learning, 99; Impetus to book-making, etc., 99; Secrecy 
at first, in the new mode of printing, 99; Capture of Mentz, causing 
a scattering of the printers, 99; Dates of the introduction of the 
new art into various countries, 99; Important production of 
books, etc., between the years 1470 and 1500, 100; Resulting 
accessibility of Greek and Latin authors, 100; Influence of the 
sudden importation of classic literatures, 100; Condition of 
learning, just before that event, 100; Previous dearth of literary 


Contents 


xv 


production north of the Alps, 100; Small number of students at 
Oxford University in 1474, 100; “ Oxford Latin,” 100; Speedy 
increase of university students and improvements in teaching the 
classics, 100; Education carried to the middle classes, 100; 
Growing thirst for knowledge, 101; Translations of the Bible, 
101; Their distribution, 101; Stimulus to the Protestant Refor¬ 
mation, 101; Improvement of the Catholic clergy, 101; Effect of 
King James’ version of the Scriptures, on the English language, 
101; Effect, on the growth of English literature, of improved 
mechanical facilities for producing books, 101; Character of this 
literature, especially of the Elizabethan, 101; Revival from 
intellectual dullness, after the introduction of Caxton’s press, 102; 
Summary of events, promoted or made possible by the new art of 
printing, 102; Their probable delay, without the art, 102; 
Relative importance of Gutenberg’s invention, 102; Its sim¬ 
plicity, how long it was waited for, and its immediate outcome, 
102; Other stimulating inventions, 102; Mariners’Compass, 103; 
Influence of the compass and astrolabe, in promoting maritime 
exploration, 103; Discovery of the New World, 103; Its occur¬ 
rence soon after the flight of Greek scholars to Florence, 103; 
Its general influence and its promptings to foreign voyages, 103; 
Discoveries by the Cabots, 104; By Vasco da Gama, 104; Impor¬ 
tant sequences, 104; Celestial observations by Copernicus, and 
his consequent theory, 104; Opposition to this theory, 104; 
Confirmatory discoveries by Galileo, 104; Results of his invention 
of the telescope, 104; Its revelations, 104; Persecution of Galileo, 
105; Progress of the world of thought, 105; Disposition to en¬ 
courage and protect inventors and authors, 105; Proofs of this 
disposition in England, 105; Consequence, in the Statute of 
Monopolies, 105; Benefits of the statute, and their increase, 105; 
Progress of inventions since 1750, 106; Watt’s improvements in 
the steam engine, 106; Crudeness of former steam engines, 106; 
History of steam inventions, 106; Stephenson’s improvements 
in locomotive engines, 106; Fulton’s invention of the steamship, 
107; Gain to the world from the invention and the use of steam 
engines, 107; Estimate of steam power used in Great Britain, 107; 
Marvels of steam, as y substitute for human energy, 107; The 
Song of Steam, 107-108; Inventions of machinery for cotton and 
woolen manufactures, 109; The Railway spinning-frame, 109; 


XVI 


Contents 


Its amazing productiveness, 109; Its epic, 109; Gradual growth 
of great inventions, 110; Numerous patents for them, 110; 
Patents for spinning machinery, 110; For looms, 110; Vast 
expenditures for bringing inventions to the point of success, 110; 
For perfecting wool-combing machinery, 110; Necessity for 
patents, 110; Profits from inventions, 110; From Bessimer’s 
process for making steel, 110; Benefits, accruing chiefly to the 
public, 111; Savings, from improvements in plows, 111; Oppo¬ 
sition to cast-iron plowshares, 111; Savings by use of the culti¬ 
vator, 111; By use of harvesters, 111; Relation of inventions to 
American precedence in wealth, 111; Patent-protection during 
the Colonial Period, 111; Provision, in our National Constitution, 
for the benefit of authors and inventors, 111; First American 
statute respecting inventions, 111; By whom inspired, 112; Its 
liberality, 112; How administered during Jefferson’s administra¬ 
tion, 112; Improvements of the statute and its comparative 
excellence, 112; Its influence on the arts, 112; Numerical growth 
of American patents, 112; Variety of patented inventions, 113; 
Patents for ludicrous inventions, 113; Automaton cat, 113; 
Value of the American patent system, 113; Its influence on 
foreign patent systems, 113; Dignity and grandeur of the me¬ 
chanic arts, 114. 


V 

ENGLISH AND AMERICAN PRONUNCIATION 

Members of the British Archaeological Society, as representa¬ 
tives of English culture, 115; Observance of their speech as 
compared with American speech, 115; A significant question, 115; 
Words of different local meanings, 116; A list of such words, 116; 
Figurative American words, 117; Characteristic differences 
between American and English pronunciation and intonation, 
117; American monotony of speech, 118; Differences in the 
quantity of the vowels, 118; Illustrations of characteristic 
peculiarities, from the speech of English clergymen, 118; English 
pronunciations of the vowel, a, 118; Origin of the greater preva¬ 
lence of short a in America, 118; Protests against it, 119; 
National differences as to long e and short e, 119; English pro¬ 
nunciation of been, 119; American difficulty in copying it, 119; 




Contents 


XVII 


Similar peculiarity in other words, 119; English notation of the 
vowel sound in been, 119; The true sound, an intermediate, 119; 
Pronouncing keys, insufficient to denote it, 120; Of the pronun¬ 
ciation, ben, 120; Growing tendency in America to pronounce i 
like long e, 120; Importance of its avoidance, 120; Words in 
which long o should have a shortened sound, 120; How the pro¬ 
nunciations of o have been marked, 121; Diversities of opinion as 
to quoth, 121; Cause of these diversities, 121; Perception of the 
sound of o in quoth, 121; Amusing discussion of the pronuncia¬ 
tion of whole, 121; Pronunciations of o by Webster, 122; By 
Worcester, 122; By Sargent, 122; Sound of long o before th , 122; 
Comparison of its sound in loth and loathe, 122; English and 
American sounds of long u in final syllable ure with a secondary 
accent, 122; Tendency to connect the sound of ure with that of 
the preceding t, 122; Avoidance of this, 122; Walker’s attempt 
to prevent pronouncing long u like oo , 123; His substitution of 
long u for short u in unaccented final syllables, 123; Webster’s 
and Worcester’s protests, 123; Their apparent rejection of the 
long u sound in many final syllables with a secondary accent, 123; 
The consequent misleading, 123; This result, most noticeable 
among the disciples of Worcester, 124; Belief as to real intent of 
Webster and Worcester, 124; Difficulty in passing from the 
sound of t to that of full long u (pronounced yu), 124; English 
distinctness of consonant sounds, 124; Illustrations in the English 
utterance of yes, no, etc., 124; American neglect of consonant 
sounds, 125; Origin of this neglect, 125; What consonants are 
most disregarded in American speech, 125; The probable cause, 
125; Sound of r in English speech, 125; English blending of 
syllables, when r is preceded by a short vowel, 126; Such blending 
less apparent in American speech, 126; The American habit 
preferable, 126; Remedy for imperfect articulation, 126; Ameri¬ 
can inheritance of mispronunciations, 127; Origin of many such, 
in English provincialisms, 127; Why some are deemed Ameri¬ 
canisms, 127; Examples of inherited mispronunciations, 127; 
Old sound of the diphthong oi, 127; Its Saxon origin, 128; Its 
modification, 128; Persistency of the old sound, 128; Its survival 
in rhymes, 128; A school boy’s mistake, 128; Continuance of the 
Saxon pronunciation of various diphthongs, 129; Illustrations, 
from an Irish ditty, 129; Lowell, on Yankee mispronunciations, 


xviii Contents 

129; Good pronunciation of the educated classes in New England, 
130; How American speech may be greatly improved, 130; Our 
duty to avoid abuses in speech, 130. 


VI 

STORMS—THEIR ORIGIN AND LAWS OF MOTION 

Man’s abode, in a fluid element, 131; The aerial ocean, 131; 
Its pressure on our bodies, 131; Its density lessening upwards, 
131; Its tides, currents, etc., 131; Its relative force when in 
motion, 131; Its circulation, dependent on inequalities of tem¬ 
perature, 131; Its providential guidance, 132; Its storms, sub¬ 
ject to law, 132; Consideration of such law in respect to the 
north temperate zone, 132; Circulation of the atmosphere as a 
whole, 132; Causes of its complexity, 132; Regions of compara¬ 
tive regularity, 132; The trade winds and their range, 132; 
Their course, and why, 133; Similarity of other winds approach¬ 
ing the equator, 134; Illustration of the law which governs them, 
134; Curvilinear course of winds blowing towards the polar 
regions, 135; The passage winds, their range, and increasing 
deflection, 135; Relation of the deflection to the earth's sphe¬ 
ricity and to the increasing declination of its surface towards the 
poles, 135; Chief cause of diversity of winds in the temperate 
regions, 136; Why the passage winds seldom move far without 
interruption, 136; Their heaping-up, analogous to that of certain 
tides, 136; The law of air currents returning towards the tropics, 
137; Influence of the great diversities of temperature on the 
limited sweep and inconstancy of winds in the cool temperate 
regions, 137; Extent of these diversities, 137; Contrasts of circu¬ 
lation in the temperate zones during the warm and cold months, 
138; Regions of variable winds, 138; Most prevalent winds in the 
temperate zones, 138; Calm belts near trade-wind regions, 138; 
“ Horse-Latitudes," 139; Origin of tropical calm belts, 139; 
Their relation to the trade winds and passage winds, 139; Over¬ 
balancing of light air by heavy, and the consequent circulation, 
139; Illustration of such action, 139; Influence of local causes on 
atmospheric circulation, 140; Centers of warmth, 140; Prof. 
Espy's belief respecting the course of the air moving toward 


Contents 


XIX 


heated centers, 141; Prof. Dov6’s discovery concerning such 
moving. 142; Redfield’s Law in respect to this motion, 142; 
Discovery of explanation of Redfield’s law by author of the 
present paper, 142; Prof. Ferrel’s earlier explanation, 143; At¬ 
mospheric whirls, common in the temperate zones, 143; Their 
cyclonic character and respective diversities, 143; Cool centers 
and the outflow thence, 144; Prevalence in the temperate 
regions of warm and cool centers, 144; Development therefrom 
of revolving columns or whirling disks of air, 144; Description 
of such columns, etc., and their movements, 144; Cyclones, why 
so called, 144; Anticyclones, 144; Secondary whirls or tor¬ 
nadoes, 145; Similar whirls, observed in burning cane-brakes, 
etc., 145; Direction of cyclonic whirls in opposite hemispheres, 
145; Vortex in cyclones, 146; Parabolic paths of cyclones, 146; 
Accompanying rains, 146; Similar rains in volcanic eruptions, 
146; In the burning of herbage during summer droughts, 146; 
Espy’s suggestion of the artificial production of rain, 146; Weird 
incident corroborative of his views, 147; The author’s explana¬ 
tion of cyclonic whirls and their course, 148-151; Of the origin of 
their vortices, 151-152; Shipwrecks, on emerging from the 
vortices, 152; Avoidance of such disasters, 152; Ballot’s law, 
153; Bearing of cyclones, more or less eastward in northern 
hemisphere, 153; Their average direction, 154; Cause of such 
direction, 154; Sergeant Finley’s report on their course, 154; 
Why the currents most influencing such course come almost 
always from the southerly side, 154-156; Prof. Ferrel’s views on 
the subject, 156; Why the paths of cyclones are parabolic, 156; 
Rate of progress of revolving storms, 156; Shape of the whirls, 
and the reason therefor, 157; Height of barometer in the vortex, 
157; Where it is highest in the whirl, and why, 157; Why revolv¬ 
ing storms are ordinarily attended with rain, 157-158; How 
such rains are chiefly promoted, 158; How the warmth causing 
the continuous in-draft of air in cyclones is kept up, 158; Why 
the moist air from near the earth’s surface flows farthest toward 
the center of the vortex, 158-159; Lack of condensation in the 
vortex, 159; Formation and progress of a rain ring, 159; Inter¬ 
mittent rains and alternate storms and calms, 159; Anticyclone 
regions and their characteristics, 159-160; Contrast of anti¬ 
cyclones with cyclones, 160; Why anticyclones are never violent, 


XX 


Contents 


160; Weather predictions, 160; Tornadoes, especially in the 
United States, 160-161; Where they are most frequent here, 161; 
Their origin and cause of development, 161; Extent of their 
paths, 161; Rate of progress, 162; Velocity of whirls, 162; Com¬ 
parative force, 162; Effects of a tornado in passing over Indian¬ 
apolis, 162; Instances of wonderful force exerted by tornadoes, 
163; Their destructiveness of human lives, 164; How they exert 
such force, 164; Character of attendant rains and hail, 165; 
When and where tornadoes are most prevalent in this country, 
165; Rains, from other sources than rotary storms, 165; Divine 
wisdom, in the control of storms, 165. 


VII 

A GLIMPSE OF THE FEATHERED TRIBES 

The coming of birds in spring, 167; The attractiveness of their 
Natural History, 167; The classification of birds and their rank 
in the animal kingdom, 167; Peculiarity of their spines, 167-168; 
General characteristics of their bony framework, 168; Their need 
of lightness, 168; The muscles of birds most given to flight, 168; 
The breathing capacity of birds, 168; Importance of this, 168; 
Rapid flight of a species of swift, 168; How birds float in the air, 
169; How rise and sink in floating, 169; Their strength of voice, 
169; How far certain birds can be heard, 169; Structure of their 
vocal organs, 169; Beauty of plumage, 170; Its coloring and 
luster, 170; Where most gorgeous, 170; Its variety, 170; Ad¬ 
mirable distribution of the colors, 170; Paradises of the feathered 
tribes, 170; Compensations in bird endowments, 170; Regions 
of most melodious song, 171; Beauty of certain species when on 
the wing, 171; Brilliancy of male birds, 171; Texture and density 
of plumage, 171; Its peculiarity in birds incapable of flight, 171; 
Plumage of aquatic birds and glands for its anointment, 171; 
Furry and downy coats of birds, 171; Utility of the downy coats, 
171; Feathers for special service, 172; Inflation of quills, 172; 
Tail feathers of climbing birds, 172; Shedding of feathers, 173; 
Senses of birds as compared with those of the higher animals, 173; 
Their peculiarities of tongue and palate, 173; Their swallowing, 
173; Their possible sensation akin to taste, 173; Their sense of 



Contents 


xxi 


smell, 173; Dull scent of the vulture, 173; His sight, 173; Vision 
of other birds, 174; Of the sparrow, 174; Of the hawk and kite, 
174; Serviceable vision of insectiverous birds, 174; Hearing of 
birds, 174; Their learning and repeating of tones, 174; A seam¬ 
stress’ parrot, 174; Birds, distinguished from mammals as ovipa¬ 
rous, 175; Correction of statement that all life is from the egg, 
175; Observation of development from the eggs of birds, 175; 
The science of embryology, 175; Fundamental facts, shown by its 
study, 175; Progressive development, through inferior forms, in 
hatching birds’ eggs, 175; Features of progressive development 
pointed out by Prof. Agassiz, 176; Such facts, viewed as confirma¬ 
tory of evolution, 176; Classification of birds by structure and 
habits, 176; One of the simplest classifications, 176; One much 
used by British ornithologists, 176; One preferred by late 
American writers, 177; Subdivisions, from orders to spec’.es, 177; 
Number of species of birds, 177; Two subdivisions of Passeres, 
in Coues’ classification, 177; Rank of singing birds, 177; Of the 
crow family, 177; Of the northern raven, 177; Parker’s esti¬ 
mate of the northern raven, 177-178; Its rarity in New Eng¬ 
land, 178; Flow it compares with the crow, 178; Its rank among 
sinister birds and the regard for this species, 178; Linnaeus, con¬ 
cerning the northern raven, 178; The thrush family, 179; 
Mocking-bird, 179; Wood thrush, 179; Hermit thrush, 180; 
Bobolink, 180; Bryant’s poem, “ Robert of Lincoln,” 180; 
The meadow lark, 181; Chickadee, 181; Ruby-crowned wren, 
182; Yellow bird, 182; Grosbeaks, 182; Scarlet tanager, 182; 
Red-winged blackbird, 182; Humming birds, 182; Chimney 
swallows, 183; Colony of chimney swallows; a colony observed 
by Audubon, 183; Long continuance of chimney swallows in 
flight, 184; Their mode of entering chimneys, 184; A numerous 
colony, 184; The cherry bird and its voracity, 184; Butcher 
bird, 184; Finch family, 185; Red cross-bill, 185; Beauty of 
the finches, 185; Blue-jay, 185; Golden-winged woodpecker, 
185; Wild pigeon, 186; Former immensity of its flocks in our 
western country, 186; Wild turkey, 187; Our rapacious birds, 
187; The turkey-buzzard, 187; Golden eagle, 187; Bald eagle, 
188; White albatross, 188; Carolina paroquet, 189; Its domesti¬ 
cation and ruthless destruction, 189; Attractive, but humble, 
character of the paroquets, 189; A plea for the birds, 189. 


XXII 


Contents 


VIII 

WHAT TO READ AND HOW TO READ 

The multiplicity of books, 190; Extent of single libraries, 190; 
Yearly issue of books, 190; Share of them in our mother tongue, 
190; Attempt to keep pace with English literature, 190; Shall 
we despair? 190; How shall we select and appropriate what is best 
for us? 190; Discussion of this problem by learned writers, 190; 
The difficulty, growing more serious, 191; Emerson’s rules, 191; 
For whom meant, 191; Consideration respecting the readers, 191; 
Reading only famous books, 191; Joseph Cook’s observations, 
191; Their correctness, 191-192; Great names in poetry, 192; 
In other departments of literature, 192; Familiarity with great 
authors, first, 192; Reading translations, 192; Reading only 
books approved by age, 192; Waiting a year for tests of new 
books, 193; When second-rate books are a mischief, 193; Con¬ 
cern about current literature, 193; Taking the choicest only, 193; 
Sir William Hamilton’s rule, 193; Its approval by distinguished 
scholars, 193; Building character by reading, 193; Reading bad 
books, 193; The bane of our present literature, 193; Flash news¬ 
papers and their readers, 194; Teaching children what to avoid, 
194; Explanation of the rule, “ Read only what you like,” 194; 
Relation to reading, of interest, attention, and memory, 194; 
Reading what we most need, 194; Reading a variety, 194; 
Seeking a broad culture, 194; Seeking information from the latest 
approved books, 194-195; Guarding against charlatanry, etc., 
195; What may be done to keep abreast with the times, 195; 
Culling and skipping, 195; Frittering away time in newspaper 
reading, 195; What to pass over, and what not, 195; Best 
thoughts of the ablest living wHters, 195; History and its profit¬ 
ableness, 195; Biography, in its relation to history, 196; Share 
of time to be given them, 196; Geography and its fundamental 
importance, 196; Illustration of this, in respect to the semi¬ 
civilization of the Tartars and Bedouins, 196; In respect to the 
greatness of Greece and Rome and the precedence of modern 
England, 196; Need of a knowledge of the physical sciences, 197; 
Advantages of such knowledge, 197; Attractiveness and influence 
of poetry and fiction, 197; The craze for fiction, 197; Proper 
place of the novel, 197; Sir John Herschel and Anthony Trol- 


Contents 


xxm 


lope’s views respecting it, 197; The historical element in Scott’s 
novels, 197; The novel as a portal to history, 197; Reading by 
subjects, 198; Disadvantage from frequent change of subjects, 
198; From excess of newspaper reading, 198; Undesirableness 
of a hobby, 198; Choice of the next book before finishing the 
present, 198; Care in beginning and finishing books, 198; Reason¬ 
able adherence to a well-devised system, 198; Excuse of want of 
time, 198; Odd moments, 198; Illustrations of their value, 199; 
Times for solid reading and for light reading, 199; Reading for 
inspiration, 199; Care to remember, 199; Skimming, 199; 
Carlyle and Gladstone’s ability in this, 200; Making notes, 200; 
Talking over the subjects, 200; Reading clubs, 200; The reading 
habit, 200; Mental rest and digestion, 200; Morbid cravings, 
200; Results of proper reading and reflection, 200. 

IX 

DANIEL WEBSTER’S ORATORY COMPARATIVELY 

VIEWED 

Test of oratory, 201; Determining its merit, 201; Fitness of 
speech for the audience, 201; Choate’s remark about Demos¬ 
thenes’ orations, 201; Demosthenes’ rank, 201; Persons, he 
addressed, their training and education, 201; Definition of 
oratory, 201; Manner of delivery, 201; What is to be regarded 
in judging of oratory, 202; Webster’s statement of what con¬ 
stitutes oratory, 202; What he puts at the back of all oratory, 
203; Webster’s personal appearance, 204; Personal impression of 
Webster at a reception in his honor, 204; His warning to the 
country, in his reply to Hayne, 204-205; Character of his words, 
and what they indicate of the man, 206; His championship of the 
Union, 206; The superior excellence of his reply to Hayne, 206; 
Its use as a standard for oratorical comparison, 206; His maturity 
at its delivery, 206; Inventory of his powers, 206; His ability as 
an actor, 206-207; His voice, 207; Lodge’s opinion of his physical 
equipment for oratory, 207; Summary of his ruling qualities, 207; 
His personal character, in relation to his conduct as a speaker, 207; 
His irony, invective, and humor, 208; His imagination, 208; His 
constructive power and regard for symmetry and strength, 208; 
His attention to the chief end, 208; His clearness of thinking 


XXIV 


Contents 


and expression, 208; His ability in the choice of language, 208; 
General character of his words, 208; His slowness of speech, 209; 
Vigor of his intellect, 209; His laudatory appellation, 209; Power 
of adaptation to his audiences, 209; Variety of his efforts, 209; 
His qualifications for such efforts, 210; His knowledge of human 
nature, 210; His early orations, 210; His scholarship, 210; His 
patriotic devotion, 210-211; Criticism of his conduct respecting 
the compromise measures of 1850, 211; His avowed feeling as to 
slavery and its extension, 211; His disposition respecting its 
prohibition, 211; Reasons for his course, 211; His efforts to allay 
sectional bitterness, 212; His foresight of the evils of secession, 
212; His predictions of a fratricidal war, 212; Loss of his popu¬ 
larity in the North, 213; Subsequent admissions of his wisdom, 
213; Results of the sectional controversy, 213; Webster, spared 
from beholding the ensuing catastrophe, 214; Beneficent results 
of his personal sacrifices, 214; Growing desire in the North for 
the preservation of the Union, 214; Lincoln’s delay of the 
Emancipation Proclamation, 214; Influence of Webster’s recorded 
utterances respecting sectional disagreement, 214; His courage 
and its source, 215; Confidence in his ability to reply to Hayne, 
215; His preparation for the effort, 215; His sources of reliance 
for success, 215; The wonderful exhibition of his powers, 215; 
Remarkable characteristics of his speech, 216; The wonder it 
excites, 216; Difficulties of a fair comparison between Webster’s 
oratory and that of other famous speakers, 216; Present regard 
for Demosthenes’ speeches, 216; High tribute to them, 216; 
Their probable rank, 216; Demosthenes’ elocution, as compared 
with Webster’s. The effectiveness of his oratory, 217; His 
death, 217; Invective passage in his oration for the Crown, 217; 
Its true character and the warrant for it, 218; Its influence on his 
credit and esteem, 218; Its comparative suitableness as respects 
then and now, 218; Its relation to true eloquence, 218; Question 
as to such language in Webster’s speeches, 218; Nobility of 
retort in Webster’s reply to Hayne, 218; Cicero, his intellect 
and character, 219; His mental habits and taste, 219; Estimate 
of him as compared with Webster, 219; Characteristics of Cicero 
in his later years, 219; His ability to kindle popular enthusiasm, 
219; Weakness that impaired his oratory, 220; His culture, at 
different periods, compared with Webster’s, 220; Facts, in the 


Contents 


xxv 


world's progress, that profited Webster, 220; Conclusion drawn 
from the effects of Cicero’s and Webster’s oratory, 220; Specimen 
of Cicero’s invective, contrasted with that of Demosthenes, 220; 
Its translation by Choate, 220; Less objectionable than Demos¬ 
thenes’ tirade, 221; Cicero’s assassination, 221; Webster’s 
oratory, compared with Burke’s, 221; Imperfect reports of 
Burke’s extemporaneous speeches, 221; Literary quality of his 
speeches, 222; His manner before an audience, 222; His voice 
and delivery, 222; Grattan’s opinon of him, 222; Erskine’s 
opinion and conduct respecting him, 222; Macaulay’s estimate 
of Burke, 222; Earl Russell’s estimate, 223; Lodge’s comparison 
of Burke with Webster, 223; Specimen of Burke’s invective, 
224; The writer’s view of it, 224-225; McCall’s comparison of 
Burke with Webster, 226; Belief of the writer as to how Webster’s 
oratory compared with that of Mirabeau and Castelar, 226; Web¬ 
ster’s rank among American orators, 227; The lasting worth of 
his speeches, 227; Prospective verdict of the ages concerning 
them, 227; Comparison of Webster with Clay and Choate as to 
popular oratory, 227; Portion of his reply to Hayne, compared 
with invective passages from Demosthenes, Cicero, and Burke, 
227-229; Careful estimate of Webster’s words, as then spoken, 
230; Verdict, as to Webster’s supreme effort, and question about 
the honor he deserves, 230. 


X 

HINDOO POETRY 

Byron’s poetic tribute to the Orient, 231; Inspiration from 
oriental poetry, 231; Late discovery of a poetic literature 
beyond the Indus, 232; What it embraces, in metrical form, 232; 
Its religious character, 232; When it was first brought to our 
knowledge, 232; Importance of its introduction to the Western 
World, 232; The language in which it is written, 232; Veneration 
of this language, 233; Late Sanskrit publications, 233; Profes¬ 
sorships of Sanskrit, 233; Appreciation of Sanskrit literature, 
233; The Rig-Veda, 233; Authorship of its hymns, 234; Their 
antiquity, number, and arrangement, 234; When, first written 
down, and how; 234, The earliest manuscripts of the Rig-Veda, 
234; How knowledge of it was previously transmitted, 234; 


XXVI 


Contents 


How the Vedic hymns are taught, 234; The manner of their 
recital, 234; Requirement as to learning the Rig-Veda, 234; 
Seriousness of the task, 234; Thoroughness with which it is 
accomplished, 234— 235; Term, applied to the chief gods, 235; 
Their number, 235; Number of other divinities, 235; The Su¬ 
preme God, 235; Origin of the minor gods, their relation to the 
Supreme, and how addressed, 235; Imperfect consciousness of 
their identity, 235; Relation of Dyaus to the sky, 235; His 
marriage with the earth, 235; Correspondence of these divinities 
with the Greek, 235; Personification of the bright sky in relation 
to the earth, 235; Hymns to Varuna, 230; Ascriptions to him 
similar to scriptural ones to the Son of God, 236; Specimen of a 
hymn with such ascriptions, 236; Similarity of this hymn to 
certain passages in the Bible, 236; Hindoo conception, during 
the first Vedic period, of the Supreme Being, 237; Of what it is 
indicative, 237; Dyaus in a state of repose, how named, 237; 
Characteristics of Brahman, 237; Conditions, under which 
Dyaus is termed Brahma, 238; Vedic hymn as to change from 
Brahman to Brahma, 238; Relations, to each other, of love, 
desire, will and action, 238; Continuance of the foregoing hymn 
as to the Creation and the minor deities, 239; Hymns relating to 
Brahma, Agni, and Indra, 239-240; A background of mono¬ 
theism, 240; Edwin Arnold's views as to the Brahmanical faith, 
240; Rarity of Vedic and Hindoo recognition of but one true God, 
240; Aditi, the Boundless, — and Ushas, the Dawn, 240; Hindoo 
hope of heaven, 241; Acceptance by Yama — the Judge — and 
absorption in Brahma, 241; Funeral hymn, expressive of such 
views, 241; Mythological value of the Rig-Veda, 242; Its origin 
of the goddess of wisdom, compared with similar stories in the 
Greek and Latin mythologies, 242; Value of the Rig-Veda, as to 
comparative philology, 242; Prehistoric Aryan knowledge, 
gleaned from comparative philology, 242-243; Max Muller’s 
remarks about Vedic literature, 244; Translations of Vedic 
hymns and of the Rig-Veda, 244; The poetic merit of the Rig- 
Veda, compared with that of the book of Job, 244; The later 
Vedas, 245; The oldest of the Indian epics, and the significance 
of its name, 245; Voluminous character of the Maha Bharata, 
245; Its translation, 245; Its origin and character, 245; To what 
it relates, 245-246; Views respecting its symbolism, 246; Its 


Contents 


xxv 11 


favorite hero, 246; Sketch of Yudisthira, 246; The idea of self- 
renunciation and of union with the Infinite, 246; Yudisthira’s 
search for the heaven of Indra, 247; Extract from the Maha 
Bharata, describing this event, 247-249; Fearful character of 
some of its lines, 249; Their imaginative power and realism, 249; 
Conclusion of the sketch, 249-251; Episodes in the poem, 251; 
Reverence for the Maha Bharata, 251; Grandeur of its close, 251; 
Antiquity of the Maha Bharata, 251; The second great epic of 
India, 251; Changes in India’s social and political conditions 
since the composition of the first, 252; The founder of Boodhism, 
252; His rejection of Brahmanical teachings, 252; His urgency 
of self-renunciation and contemplative repose, 252; Nirvana, as 
the ultimate reward, 252; Definitions of Nirvana, 252-253; 
Spread of Boodhism, 253; Its atheistic character, 253; Its 
spiritual failure, 253; The reaction, 253; The subject of the 
Ramayana, 253; Its hero and heroine, 253; Rama’s opponents, 
253; His allies, 254; Their leader, 254; Achievements of himself 
and his followers, 254; Comparative morality of the Ramayana, 
254; Its teachings and character, 254; Its civilization and 
customs, 254; Its narrative quality, 254; Its pictures of scenery, 
254; A descriptive passage from the poem, 254-255; Public 
reading of the Ramayana, 255; The listeners and their regard 
for it, 255-256; Later Indian poetry, 255; Beautiful passage 
from a hymn to Vishnu, 256-257. 



JIUualratuma 


Gate of Sultan's Palace, Orta Keny. 

Bedouins. 

Our Mont Blanc Party. 

Diagram illustrating Nervous System of Centipede . . . 
Diagram showing Course of Trade Winds and Passage 

Winds. 

Diagram showing the Meeting of Currents of Air in the 
Calm Belts at the Tropics, whence the Trade Winds and 

Passage Winds flow forth. 

Diagram showing Course of Air Currents toward Heated 

Centers, as conjectured by Prof. Espy. 

Diagram showing Incurving Course of Air Currents 
toward Heated Centers, as learned by Prof. Dov6 . . . 
Diagram showing Course of Cyclonic Whirls in the South¬ 
ern Hemisphere, as discovered by Redfield. 

Diagrams showing Change in Manner of Holding a Rod so 
as to cause Its Turning in a Direction Contrary to the 

Hands of a Watch. 

Diagram showing the Parabolic Paths of Cyclones in the 

Northern Hemisphere and in the Southern. 

Rose-Breasted Grosbeak. 

Chickadee. 


1 

29 S' 
37 ^ 
67 ^ 



1 / 

139 

141 ^ 
141 ^ 
141 V 


150 y ' 

153 S 
167 / 
182 y 





















































































































Gates of Sultan’s Palace, Orta Iveny 






































larirtu pqrera 

I 

THE CITY OF THE GOLDEN HORN 

Upon the hilly shores of the narrow strait which 
connects the Sea of Marmora with the Euxine is a 
famous city — so widespread, so unique, and so 
picturesque, that it strikes the beholder with astonish¬ 
ment. It stands like a Colossus, one foot in Asia and 
the other in Europe, commanding what was once the 
principal gateway of the East. Tradition says that 
when Io — a divinely beautiful maiden, transformed 
by the cunning of enamored Jupiter into a milk- 
white heifer — fled from the wrath of his vengeful 
spouse, she escaped by swimming the intervening 
waters to the western shore. The strait, therefore, 
has been known from the earliest times as the Bos 
Porus. 

On the European side of the Bosporus, not far from 
its junction with the Sea of Marmora, is a broad, 
navigable inlet, thrusting itself into the heart of the 
city between low ranges of hills, and narrowing and 
tapering inland with a graceful curve till it comes 
almost to a point. The setting sun often illumines 
its placid surface with a sheen of resplendent gold — 
the more brilliant by contrast with the darker shores, 


2 


Variety Papers 


here and there embowered with trees. It is The 
Golden Horn. The apex of the horn receives a small 
mountain stream known as the Sweet Water — a 
name often applied to the whole liquid expanse 
extending thence to the Bosporus. 

North of the Golden Horn, toward the Black Sea> 
is the Frank quarter of Constantinople — including 
chiefly the great commercial district, known as 
Galata, and a subordinate residential district, called 
Pera. 

South of the Golden Horn — toward the Sea of 
Marmora — is Stamboul, the distinctively Moslem 
or Turkish quarter. No “ dog of a Christian ” may 
dwell here, except as servant or slave. Once strongly 
fortified, Stamboul now presents only a feeble barrier 
of ruined walls, with towers and gates, and with a 
broad moat or ditch, once filled with water, but now 
drained and cultivated in good part with gardens. 

On the Asiatic side of the Bosporus is that part of 
the city known as Scutari — having a promiscuous 
population, of various nationalities, scattered along 
the shore for a distance of two or three miles from the 
Sea of Marmora. 

Altogether, there are gathered in the several dis¬ 
tricts of Constantinople about a million inhabitants — 
the most motley assemblage on the face of the globe. 
Here the Orient and the Occident clasp hands; here 
civilization meets semi-barbarism; here refinement 
encounters brutality; here Christian faith contends 
with Mohammedan and pagan superstition; here 


The City of the Golden Horn 


3 


modern social life confronts medieval and patriarchal; 
here a vast human concourse — as from all parts of 
the earth — is poured into one great seething mael¬ 
strom, in whose depths there is such a commingling of 
elements as is known nowhere else under the sun. 

Constantinople is the most cosmopolitan city in the 
world. 

Physically viewed, it is a broad expanse of hills 
and dales and intervening waters. Its topography 
has been but little changed: except for purposes of 
fortification, or as the structures of later ages have 
been reared upon the crumbling ruins of the past. In 
many parts, it is beautified with gardens and with 
shade trees, which a genial climate permits in almost 
endless variety. 

At a distance, the most noticeable features of 
Constantinople, except the hills, are its mosques, or 
churches for Mohammedan worship, many of which 
occupy commanding sites, and, with their graceful 
domes and slender sky-piercing minarets, present to 
the eye of the western beholder a unique and wonder¬ 
fully beautiful aspect. 

The city is rich in treasures of Byzantine archi¬ 
tecture — some exceedingly delicate and exquisite, 
almost outrivaling the Gothic in elaborate sculpture, 
yet rarely if ever presenting a somber or gloomy 
appearance. They are veritable blossoms of art. 
Of these, I shall speak more particularly by and by. 

The most interesting locality in Constantinople is 
Galata Bridge — sometimes called the Bridge of 


4 


Variety Papers 


Sultana Valide — which spans the Golden Horn from 
Stamboul to Galata. It consists of numerous flat- 
boats, or pontoons, moored side by side, over which 
there is a continuous platform or carriage-way of 
rugged plank. Across this bridge moves a ceaseless 
throng — so varied in complexion, in nationality, in 
dress, and in language, that it seems almost a con¬ 
course of the nations gathered for some grand festival 
of the ages. I cannot do better in describing it than 
to quote a few paragraphs from a vivid word-picture 
by the Italian writer, De Amicis. 

“ The crowd passes in great waves, each one of 
which is of a hundred colors; and every group of 
persons represents a new type of people. Whatever 
can be imagined that is most extravagant in type, 
costume, and social class, may there be seen within 
twenty paces and in ten minutes of time. 

“ Behind a throng of Turkish porters, who pass, 
running and bending under enormous burdens, ad¬ 
vances a sedan-chair, inlaid with ivory and mother of 
pearl, and bearing an Armenian lady; and, at either 
side of it, a Bedouin, wrapped in a white mantle, and 
a Turk in muslin turban and sky-blue caftan, beside 
whom canters a young Greek gentleman, followed by 
his dragoman in embroidered vest, and a dervish with 
his tall conical hat and tunic of camel’s hair, who 
makes way for the carriage of a European ambassador, 
preceded by his running footman in gorgeous livery. 
All this is only seen in a glimpse: and, the next mo¬ 
ment, you find yourself in the midst of a crowd of 


The City of the Golden Horn 


5 


Persians, in pyramidal bonnets of Astrakhan fur; who 
are followed by a Hebrew, in a long yellow coat open 
at the sides; a frowsy-headed gypsy woman, with her 
child in a bag at her back; a Catholic priest, with 
breviary staff; — while, in the midst of a confused 
throng of Greeks, Turks and Armenians, comes a big 
eunuch on horseback, crying out Larya! (make way), 
and preceding a Turkish carriage painted with flowers 
and birds, and filled with the ladies of a harem, 
dressed in green and violet, and wrapped in large 
white veils; — behind, a Sister of Charity from the 
hospital at Pera, an African slave carrying a monkey, 
and a professional story-teller in a necromancer’s 
habit. And what is quite natural, but appears strange 
to the newcomer, all these diverse people pass one 
another without a look, like a crowd in London; and 
not one single countenance wears a smile. 

“ It is a changing mosaic of races and religions, that 
is composed and scattered continually with a rapidity 
which the eye can scarcely follow. 

“ The contrasts between people loaded down with 
garments, looking like walking bazaars, and people 
almost naked, are most extraordinary. The spectacle 
of so much nudity is alone a wonder. Here are to be 
seen all shades of skin-colors, from the milky whiteness 
of Albania to the crow-blackness of Central Africa 
and the bluish-blackness of Darfur; chests that, if 
you struck upon them, seemingly would resound like 
a huge bass drum or rattle like pottery; backs, oily, 
stony, full of wrinkles, and hairy like the back of a 


6 


Variety Papers 


wild boar; arms, embossed with red and blue and 
decorated with designs of flowers and inscriptions 
from the Koran. 

“ But it is not possible to observe all this in one’s 
first passage over the bridge. While you are examin¬ 
ing the tattoo on an arm, your guide warns you that 
a Wallachian, a Servian, a Montenegrin, a Cossack of 
the Don, a Cossack of Ukraine, an Egyptian, a native 
of Tunis, a prince of Imerezia, is passing by. It seems 
that Constantinople is the same as it always was — 
the capital of three continents and the queen of twenty 
vice-realms.” 

All this, and much more, De Amicis presents in his 
one graphic picture of the throng on Galata Bridge. 

A learned British linguist, long resident in Con¬ 
stantinople, once remarked to an acquaintance of 
mine that he had heard twenty-six different lan¬ 
guages and dialects spoken in a single crossing of the 
bridge. 

The scene, as viewed from Galata Bridge, is one of 
surpassing beauty. On each side, are myriads of light 
rowboats or caiques, — many of them, mere fairy 
shells, cushioned, carpeted, and capable of skimming 
the water like a bird. Steamers and sailing vessels 
plow the liquid expanse in various directions; and the 
scene, as a whole, is one of the most fantastic life and 
gaiety. 

But beneath all this outward show is a somber 
depth — a weird, a shadowy, an almost incompre¬ 
hensible history, often dark with tragedy, but here 


The City of the Golden Horn 


7 


and there presenting brighter gleams which light the 
heavens as with a bow of promise. No other city, 
except the Holy City and the Eternal City, presents 
so interesting a history. 

Twenty-four times has Constantinople been be¬ 
sieged; six times has it been captured. Of its score 
or more of assailants, only Alcibiades, the Athenian, — 
Constantine, the Roman, — Dandolo, the Venetian, — 
Paleologos, the Greek, — and Mohammed II, the 
Ottoman, have entered its gates. For over a century 
and a half, it held at bay the Moslem invader. Not 
less than twelve times was it beleaguered by the armies 
of the Crescent before it fell beneath their terrific 
assaults. And then, what a scene of blood! what a 
torrent of flame! what a carnival of rapine! 

Mohammed II invested the city with an army of 
over two hundred thousand of the best trained troops 
in the world. At their head, were the famous Janis¬ 
saries — a corps composed of the very flower of 
Christian youths captured at a tender age in numerous 
wars, carefully reared in the Moslem faith, and skill¬ 
fully trained to arms. The Janissaries were the first 
regular standing army known in history. They con¬ 
stituted a kind of imperial bodyguard. 

On the Turkish side, during this siege, rude mortars 
or huge guns were used, which threw enormous granite 
balls — some of them weighing twelve hundred 
pounds. Through breaches in the walls, opened by 
these ponderous shot, entrance was again and again 
attempted. But the assaulting columns were repelled 


8 


Variety Papers 


with showers of missiles and with Greek fire; till at 
last, advancing under the eye of the Sultan, headed 
by the giant Janissary, Hassan, they resolutely forced 
their way. 

As the cry rang out, “ The Turks have entered the 
city/’ thousands of the inhabitants rushed to the 
Church of Sancta Sophia — some believing the con¬ 
querors would not dare to profane it, others expecting 
the promised apparition of an angel from Heaven who 
would annihilate the invaders. Many watched from 
the windows; numbers bowed in prayer. But the 
sound of the trumpets and the clash of arms drew 
nearer. Soon the doors of the sacred edifice were 
battered down. An infuriated horde rushed in, and 
the work of rapine and desecration began. Shouts of 
triumph and yells of rage commingled with shrieks of 
terror and groans of agony. But suddenly all was 
hushed. Mohammed II, entering on horseback, rose 
in his stirrups and uttered the ringing proclamation of 
his faith, “ Allah is the Light of Heaven and of 
Earth! ” As he reined in his steed beneath the mighty 
dome, it is said, he placed his bloody hand against one 
of its supporting piers, and left an imprint that is 
still pointed out and is declared to be the prototype 
of the cipher or sign-manual which the sultans ^till 
affix to their edicts of state. This cipher or its ana¬ 
logue is seen on many Turkish coins and often on 
embroideries. 

The capture of Constantinople by Mohammed II 
marks one of the principal epochs in the world’s 


The City oj the Golden Horn 


9 


history. It established firmly the Mohammedan 
power in Europe by securing to it the most command¬ 
ing stronghold on the high-road to Asia. Ever since, 
the presence of the Moslem has rested like a blight, 
upon what was once the fairest portion of the Eastern 
Empire; and the burning question of the centuries 
in Europe has been, “ What shall we do with the 
Turk? ” Repeated crusades have been undertaken 
against him, and more than a million lives and many 
millions of treasure have been sacrificed. But the 
turbaned monster still sits astride the neck of Euro¬ 
pean diplomacy as did the Old Man of the Sea that of 
Sinbad the Sailor. 

In one way, the immediate results of the capture of 
Constantinople — which was then the chief seat of 
Grecian learning — proved beneficent. It caused the 
dispersion of its famous classic scholars and its rich 
libraries among the nations of the West, and thus 
gave birth to a revival of learning in Europe which 
was the immediate forerunner of the Christian 
Reformation. 

The fall of Constantinople occurred in 1453 — 
thirty-nine years before Columbus discovered America. 

In connection with this event, what shall we say of 
the religion of its captors — the Moslem or Moham¬ 
medan faith — which has proved so enduring and 
has spread so widely in heathen lands, that rears 
its head today so defiantly in the Turkish capital, 
that holds in its trammels over two hundred million 
believers, and is adhered to with such terrible 


10 


Variety Papers 


fanaticism? Is it wholly bad? If so, how has it 
effected its wonderful conquests, and how does it 
maintain so tenacious a hold? Remember that, al¬ 
though it antagonizes Christianity, it is more closely 
allied to the religion of Jesus than is any other faith 
except Judaism. In fact, Mohammedanism, notwith¬ 
standing its corrupt features, is based chiefly on 
Judaism and Christianity. It teaches first and fore¬ 
most that there is but one God. It accepts, in good 
part, the Holy Scriptures, of both the Old Testament 
and the New. A Christian minister, formerly resident 
in Constantinople, states that a Kurdish Sheik once 
said to him: — “ Why do not the great Bible societies 
of England and America print the Bible and the 
Koran together? Both are revelations from God; 
the only difference is that the Koran, being later, is 
more authoritative. Print them both together, and 
then we shall have the complete revelation.” But it 
must be admitted that when the Mohammedan 
finds the teachings of the Bible hostile to those of 
the Koran, he rejects the former with intolerant 
bitterness. 

The worst feature of the Koran is its sensual para¬ 
dise, the anticipation of which so sadly degrades the 
Moslem character. 

One of the most important facts respecting Moham¬ 
medanism is that the whole of its teachings is not 
found in the Koran and the Bible; but much is em¬ 
bodied in weakly authenticated traditions, framed to 
accommodate the debased habits and inclinations of 


The City of the Golden Horn 


11 


the peoples among whom it has been introduced.* 
This fact affords one of the chief explanations of its 
ready acceptance. It cannot be denied that the 
Koran has done much to elevate the character of the 
nations it has redeemed from heathenism. It has 
driven out their senseless gods of wood and stone; 
it has introduced prayer to the only true God; it has 
taught temperance, personal cleanliness, charity to 
fellowmen, and kindness to the lower animals. Be¬ 
sides it has led, at times, to the promotion of learning. 
Yet, largely because of its sensuality, it has failed to 
uplift the hearts of its disciples in sincere and ardent 
devotion to the Supreme Being. 

To the Moslem, sin is but little more than a trans¬ 
gression of human statutes. His religion is almost 
inseparably connected, in his belief, with the interests 
of the State. In a large measure, he adheres to the 
ancient oriental idea — common to both pagan and 
Jew — that modes of faith pertain to distinctive 
nationalities or peoples. Accordingly the Sunnites, 
or principal branch of the Moslem Church, who believe 
the sultan to be the true Caliph, or successor of the 
Prophet, regard him as the lawful head of the State. 
Prominent Turks sometimes admit in private that, 
should the sultan be stripped of his imperial authority, 


* These traditions — embodied in a record known as the 
Sunn a — are accepted by the Sunnites, or those who recognize 
the sultan of Turkey as the head of the Church; but, in general, 
are rejected by the Shiites, or those recognizing the shah of 
Persia as its head. 



12 


Variety Papers 


their religion would be liable to crumble. It would no 
longer be manifest that he enjoyed the protection and 
favor of Allah, or the Supreme Being. Is it too much 
to hope that, under such circumstances, many Mo¬ 
hammedans would turn to a purer and better faith, 
and that Islam would be found to have opened the 
door to Christianity? 

The sultans are careful to secure to themselves a 
marked recognition of their distinction as Caliph — 
or head of the church, as well as of the body politic — 
by making a frequent and impressive show of their 
religion. On Friday — which is the Mohammedan 
Sabbath — the present sultan, following the example 
of his predecessors, goes in stately procession to 
mosque with the chief members of his household. It 
was my privilege to witness one of these processions. 
A large body of cavalry and infantry, brilliantly uni¬ 
formed, guarded the way and constituted the escort. 
His Majesty rode in advance, attended by high officers 
of state. As I sat at a window in the Hall of Foreign 
Embassies, directly opposite the mosque, I had good 
opportunity to see him. He is a man of scarcely more 
than medium stature; but his fine form, erect bearing, 
high head and flashing black eyes give to him a com¬ 
manding appearance. 

In a carriage immediately following the sultan was 
his mother, who is customarily treated with the defer¬ 
ence due to a queen. As the companion of a former 
sultan, — purchased by her lord, — she was looked 
upon, until her son’s accession to royalty, as, in a 


The City of the Golden Horn 


13 


sense, a mere slave. Each of the sultans, having been 
born of a bond-woman, has been accustomed, in his 
humility, although bearing many sovereign titles, to 
designate himself as the “ Son of a Slave.” But, on 
his coming to the throne, the slave being recognized 
henceforth as the mother of the “ Successor of the 
Prophet,” who is the assumed head of all the 
sovereigns of the earth, she is at once dignified with 
a precedence second only to that of her imperial 
offspring. 

Next in the sultan’s procession, after his royal 
mother, came the women of the harem. They com¬ 
mand a respect approximating to that of wives, only 
when they have borne children. The sultan has no 
wife proper. It is said that his dignity, as the Suc¬ 
cessor of the Prophet, is too great to allow his entering 
into matrimonial relations. But the mother of his 
oldest son and probable successor is customarily spo¬ 
ken of as the sultana or wife. As I saw the feminine 
beauties of the harem, looking from the windows of 
their passing carriages — each veiled with a thin 
gauze yashmak which left exposed only a narrow strip 
of the fair face just above and below her piercing dark 
eyes, — I must confess that the sight was bewitching 
in the extreme. 

The sultan’s stay at the mosque was comparatively 
brief — seemingly but little more than sufficient for 
repeating appropriate prayers. 

The superb edifice at which he now worships is one, 
lately erected, that bears his name. It is near the 


14 


Variety Paper « 

Yilciiz Kiosk, or “ Palace of the Star,” in which he 
resides. 

Many of the mosques bear the names of the sultans 
in whose honor they were reared. They were built, 
however, not by the sultans themselves, but gener¬ 
ally by their respective mothers. 

Of the splendor of these edifices, it may be proper 
for me to speak briefly. All are of Byzantine archi¬ 
tecture. Each presents a massive central dome, with 
numerous smaller domes and usually three or four 
tall minarets. The latter tower high above the 
rest of the structure, and are surrounded, in most 
instances, with two or three slender galleries, from 
which the muezzins call, in chanting tones, five times 
a day, the hour of prayer: — “ Most High! There is 
no God but the One God! Mohammed is the Prophet 
of God! Come to prayer! Come to the Temple of 
Life! ” As this cry rings out over the city, every 
faithful Mussulman, whatever may be his occupation 
or in whatever duties he may be engaged, turns at 
once toward Mecca, prostrates himself, and expresses 
his grateful homage and humble petitions to the 
Sovereign Ruler of the Universe. The scene is deeply 
impressive, especially to those who are unaccustomed 
to such devotions. 

I have before spoken of the Church of Sancta 
Sophia — or Saint Sophia, as it is commonly miscalled 
by Christians outside of Mohammedan territory. 
Originally a Christian temple, now a mosque, its name, 
Sancta Sophia, means the Holy, or Divine, Wis- 


The City of the Golden Horn 


15 


dom. It was built by the Emperor Justinian, upon 
the site of an ancient heathen temple, in the years 
533 to 537. Three Christian churches, following the 
pagan structure, had preceded it upon the same spot 
— the first, built by Constantine the Great two hun¬ 
dred years earlier. When Justinian completed this 
grand edifice, such was its magnificence that he is 
said to have exclaimed: — “ Glory to God, who has 
deemed me worthy to accomplish such an under¬ 
taking! Solomon, I have surpassed thee! ” 

Many heathen temples were rifled for its adornment. 
The eight great columns of green marble, or serpen¬ 
tine — four on each side of the nave, beneath the 
front of the galleries — were from the famous temple 
of Ephesus known as one of the Seven Wonders of the 
World — a temple consecrated to the worship of 
Diana, whose glory Demetrius and his fellow-crafts¬ 
men proclaimed when they grew riotous against the 
Apostle Paul, fearing that his preaching would de¬ 
prive them of their occupation as makers of shrines 
in honor of the goddess. Eight other columns — 
which are of porphyry, set in pairs at suitable inter¬ 
vals, beneath the floors of the galleries, between the 
nave and the side walls of the church — once graced 
the Temple of the Sun at Baalbek. The Emperor 
Aurelian brought them on his return from his con¬ 
quests in the East, and gave them to the pious Marcia, 
by whom they were sent to Justinian. Other columns 
were brought from the Temple of Helios at Palmyra, 
from the Temple of Jove at Cizicum, and from various 


16 


Variety Papers 


temples at Thebes, Alexandria, Athens, Rome, the 
Troad and the Cyclades. Many are of jasper, some of 
sienite, and some of verd antique or other richly 
colored marbles. The capitals of a good number are 
carved with patterns of great intricacy and beauty. 

For the floors and walls of the cathedral, ordinary 
marbles, it is said, were disdained. Only the rarest, 
the richest in color, the most exquisitely spotted and 
veined, were chosen. 

Vast areas in the interior of Sancta Sophia were 
originally covered with mosaics which represented 
scriptural subjects. Some of them afterwards were 
altered by the Moslem possessors, to destroy their 
Christian significance. Immense inlaid figures of 
seraphim, for instance, once looked down from the 
pendentives of the dome; but they have been trans¬ 
formed into mere nondescripts. Yet at a glance I 
perceived the original designs. A good share of the 
richest mosaic ornamentation, Christian in character, 
is now hidden beneath heavy coats of whitewash. 
The altar, with its golden sea and magnificent stud¬ 
ding of precious stones, — the richly jeweled pulpit, 
—- the massive cross of solid gold, — all, are gone. 
The splendor of the cathedral is dimmed; the interior 
pervaded with an atmosphere of gloom. Yet much of 
its glory remains, impressing the beholder with 
wonder and awe. 

Of the Moslem features of the edifice, permit me to 
say a few words. A niche, in one of the pilasters of 
the apse, indicates the direction of Mecca — the Mo- 


The City of the Golden Horn 


17 


hammedan Holy City. High up, at the light, is one 
of the four carpets on which Mohammed was accus¬ 
tomed to kneel in prayer. Pulpits, or platforms with 
sculptured balustrades and rich arabesque arches, 
here and there stand forth in graceful beauty. Op¬ 
posite the principal pulpit is the tribune of the sultan, 
closed with a gilded lattice. Aloft, upon the face of 
the broad piers which support the dome, are himg 
immense green disks, inscribed in letters of gold with 
passages from the Koran. Great chandeliers, holding 
cups of olive oil in which inflammable wicks are up¬ 
held by ivory floats, are suspended from the ceiling. 
During the sacred month of Ramazan (the Moham¬ 
medan Lent) when three thousand of the holy lamps 
are lighted at night, the temple is said to glow with 
marvelous beauty. Suspended from above with 
silken cords, are many huge ostrich eggs — typifying 
the sacred truth that the present holds the germ of 
the future, or of the life beyond the grave, and sug¬ 
gesting the wisdom of faith and patience. Near them 
also hang globes of crystal, suggestive of the bright¬ 
ness and serenity of the celestial spheres. Here and 
there are lecterns, or low reading desks, inlaid with 
mother of pearl and supporting manuscripts of the 
Koran. Prayer rugs, rolled in huge bundles or spread 
for worshipers, lie about the floor. 

The outward beauty of Sancta Sophia is marred by 
colossal buttresses, erected to support the walls, 
shattered by repeated earthquakes. But above them 
rises the vast central dome, and still higher the aspir- 


18 


V arwty Papers 


ing minarets, giving to the exterior a noble aspect. 
Within are accommodated 25,000 worshipers. The 
original cost of the edifice with its grounds and fur¬ 
nishings has been estimated by a careful Greek 
historian at $64,000,000 — or more than that of 
St. Peter's in Rome. 

The memorable events which have transpired 
within the walls of Sancta Sophia can hardly be 
enumerated. Here Chrysostom (the Golden Mouth) 
electrified vast audiences. Here the Fifth, Sixth and 
Eighth Ecumenical Councils were held; and, after 
prolonged debates, promulgated their historic dogmas. 
Here the Patriarch Nicholas I dared to shut the door 
in the face of Emperor Leo VI, and to declare him 
excommunicated, because of his unlawful marriage 
with a fourth wife. Here the pagan envoys of Prince 
Vladimir of Russia, who were sent forth to search the 
world for the true religion, over-awed and enrap¬ 
tured as they gazed on the magnificence of the temple 
and observed its splendid ritual, became convinced 
of the peerless excellence of the faith it proclaimed; 
and so carried back to their master the glad news 
which brought Russia to accept the Christianity of 
the Greek Church. Here Cardinal Humbert, attended 
by two Latin bishops, laid upon the altar the papal 
excommunication and anathema which forever dis¬ 
severed the Greek Church from the Roman Catholic. 
Here also the adventurous warriors of the Fourth 
Crusade, crazed with their success in the unright¬ 
eous capture of Constantinople, indulged in shame- 


The City of the Golden Horn 


19 


less debaucheries, — seating a vile courtesan upon 
the throne of the patriarch, — singing obscene songs, 
in nasal mockery of the Greek chants, — and profan¬ 
ing the bread and wine of the Holy Eucharist. 

Of other great mosques in Constantinople, I must 
speak briefly. 

The Mosque of Eyoub, Mohammed’s standard- 
bearer who perished in the first Arab siege of Con¬ 
stantinople about eight centuries before its capture 
by Mohammed II, is deemed the holiest in Europe. 
Tradition says that, soon after the capture, an angel 
revealed the place of Eyoub’s tomb, hidden beneath a 
depth of earth. A splendid mausoleum now covers 
the spot, and beside it has been reared the stately 
mosque. Neither may be profaned by the tread, 
hardly by the gaze, of an infidel. Here in the 
Mosque of Eyoub is kept the sword of Osman, founder 
of the Osmanli Dynasty. With this redoubtable blade, 
as an emblem of rightful sovereignty, each sultan is 
girded, with impressive ceremony, on coming to the 
throne. 

The Mosque of Mohammed II, the captor of the 
city, is the most towering structure in Constantinople. 

The Mosque of Suleiman the Magnificent is unriv¬ 
aled in the harmony of its vast proportions and the 
exquisite beauty of its interior. Capable judges 
pronounce it the most superb sanctuary in the Mo¬ 
hammedan world. 

The Mosque of Ahmed — covering a part of the 
grounds once occupied by the Palace of Constantine 


20 


Variety Paper* 


the Great, the ancient Hippodrome, and the chief 
Byzantine forum — is also a masterpiece of art. 
Distinguished by six minarets, or but one less than 
that of the famous Kaaba at Mecca, it is deemed 
second in sanctity to none in Europe, except that of 
Eyoub. 

The Mosque of the Holy Mantle contains the simple 
vestment which once covered the shoulders of the 
Prophet, and which is revered as one of the most 
sacred relics of Islam. 

Near many of the mosques are the tombs of sultans. 
The most famous of these, after that of Eyoub, is the 
tomb of Mahmoud II (called the Great), distinguished 
for his liberal statesmanship and his many reforms. 
Within this palatial structure are three sarcophagi, 
the central one containing the ashes of the revered 
sovereign, while on one side stands that of the Valide 
Sultana — mother of his immediate successor, Abdul 
Medjid — and, on the other, that; of his son and later 
successor, Abdul Aziz. Both the British and French 
governments, in grateful recognition of their amicable 
relations with Mahmoud II, have contributed to the 
adornment of the tomb. Its splendors are unsur¬ 
passed probably by those of any other, except the 
world-famed mausoleum of Shah Jehan in India. 

Near the Mosque of Eyoub is a via sacra of tombs 
containing the remains of many of the most eminent 
persons in Mohammedan history. It is an imposing 
avenue leading to a Moslem cemetery which over¬ 
spreads a neighboring hill. From the brow of the hill, 


The City of the Golden Horn, 


21 


looking down the Sweet Water and across the Golden 
Horn, the prospect is, perhaps, with a single exception, 
the most beautiful in Europe. I shall never forget its 
dreamy loveliness; —the distant hills of Asia half 
descried through a filmy veil of mist, a faint glimmer 
of the Bosporus, dim lines of bridges across the broad 
tidal inlet, the sparkling waters rippled in long wavy 
lines by sturdy vessels or slender caiques, bits of 
bright color in the costumes of the voyagers, verdant 
groves along the shores, fairy-like dales and tiny 
coves, — some of them graced with gay picnic-parties 
from harems, watched over by jealous eunuchs, — 
fantastic groups of dwellings, superb mosques, and, 
here and there — springing flower-like from the soil— 
exquisite fountains and other graceful structures of 
Byzantine architecture. 

The Sultan has several palaces in the city and upon 
its borders. Unrivaled in splendor is the one known 
as Dolma Bagtche. Built by the father of the recent 
sultan (Abdul Hamid II) and meant to be peerless, 
it stands upon the European shore of the Bosporus, 
and is best seen outwardly from the deck of a passing 
steamer. As an architectural triumph, I believe that 
no other palace is worthy to be compared with it. 
The Tuilleries and the Palace of Versailles, seen beside 
it, would be plain structures. As I caught the first 
glimpse of this miracle of art, it seemed to me almost 
a vision of enchantment raised by a magician’s wand. 
No description of mine can do justice to its magnifi¬ 
cence. Unfortunately I saw it only in passing. Per- 



22 


Variety Papers 


mit me, however, to quote a few sentences concerning 
it from the sketch of an enthusiastic writer: —* 

“ The far-stretching, snow-pure Serai, or Palace of 
Dolma Bagtche, with its interminable dainty wings 
and its profuse carvings, delicate as lace, is in its 
whole effect ethereal as a dream. Its foreground is 
the strait, with its ever-sparkling waves of deep 
Ionian blue; its background is the hillside, covered 
with the mazes of the Imperial Park, and clothed in 
perennial green. A pearl, placed between a turquoise 
and an emerald, each jewel multiplied in size and 
loveliness many million fold, is the fittest simile to 
picture the palace and its peerless setting.” . . . 
“ Though many times I have passed through its 
resplendent portal, and climbed its crystal stairway 
and wandered along its inlaid walls and through rooms 
whose floors and walls and ceilings are of alabaster, 
I carry with me now, as I carried with me then, only 
a sense of bewilderment and dazed confusion. Broad 
tablets of malachite and lapis-lazuli and vert antique; 
curtains so heavy that they would stand erect in their 
massive tissue; plate mirrors, the largest ever made; 
candelabra of cut glass, flashing the light from three 
hundred and thirty-three silver sockets (a mystic 
number); every Western as well as every Eastern 
splendor in color and gold; recollection and words 
fail in the endeavor to recall and describe them.” 


* Prof. Edward A. Grosvenor, in his admirable work entitled 
“ Constantinople,” p. 136. 





The City oj the Golden Horn 


23 


Amidst all this magnificence have been passed the 
later years of Mourad V, the brother and predecessor 
of the recent sultan. A few days after his exalta¬ 
tion to the throne, and before he had been girded with 
the sword of Osman, he was deposed — a council of 
physicians having declared him imbecile. Dolma 
Bagtche became his asylum, — possibly his prison, — 
and later may be his portal to the great unknown. 

A smaller palace of the sultan, exquisite in beauty, 
which stands on the Asiatic shore, nearer the Black 
Sea, was occupied by Queen Victoria and her retinue 
during her visit to the city some years ago. 

The palace, known as Yildiz Kiosk, or the Palace 
of the Star — the present abode of the Ottoman 
sovereign—has been made familiar of late by fre¬ 
quent mention in the newspapers. 

Viewed historically with reference to its Mussulman 
possessors, the most interesting part of Constantinople 
is that which includes the grounds and few remaining 
buildings of the Old Seraglio. It is the easternmost 
portion of Stamboul, bordering the Bosporus and the 
outer harbor of the Golden Horn. Containing one of 
the seven hills of the city, it was at an early period 
strongly fortified, and is still inclosed by battlemented 
walls and towers. 

The chief entrance to the grounds of the Old 
Seraglio is by the Imperial Gate. From this gate, 
through which for centuries the sultan and his 
council sent forth their decrees, originated the name, 
“ Sublime Porte,” as expressive of the sovereign 



24 


Variety Papers 


authority. Within niches on each side of the gate 
were once displayed, in times of treasonable disturb¬ 
ances, the dissevered heads of grand viziers and other 
officers who had offended the capricious monarchs or 
were displeasing to their haughty favorites. The 
Imperial Gate opens into the Court of the Janissaries 
— a bare area, in the midst of which stands an ancient 
plane tree, whose trunk, nearly fifty feet in circum¬ 
ference, has been hollowed out by decay. Within is a 
chamber capable of seating about thirty persons. 
Here I rested while my dragoman told me how it had 
been frequented by groups of rollicking or sulking 
and plotting Janissaries, and how this indomitable 
corps of troops, setting at defiance their ruler, was 
mowed down by the cannon shot of Mahmoud II. 

From the Court of the Janissaries, the Gate of 
Peace opens into a second court, a vast irregular 
space, inclosed by an arcade with slender marble 
columns. On the left is the Hall of the Divan, once 
occupied by the council of nine viziers, charged with 
the administration of justice, but often the mere in¬ 
struments of despotic cruelty. 

A third court is entered by the Gate of Felicity, 
admitting to the Seraglio proper. Once, whoever 
passed this gate was required to kiss its threshold. 
Professor Grosvenor speaks of it thus: —* 

“ Bewildered by anticipation of unfolding mystery, 
and by the rushing medley of association, the stranger 


* See his “ Constantinople ,” p. 722. 




The City oj the Golden Horn 25 

involuntarily pauses as he approaches its opening 
doors. The blood is stirred at the thought of a vaster 
throng of beauties than have entered through any 
other doors on earth. As the maiden, Abishag, was 
sought, for King David, throughout all the coasts of 
Israel, so hundreds, thousands, of other maidens as 
fair were sought, among the subjects and the captives 
of an Empire, for the lord of the Seraglio. With eyes 
bright as stars, with breath like the flowers of spring, 
with arms white as the houris’, with airy steps that 
left no footprint upon the ground, through more than 
three hundred successive years they were ceaselessly 
entering here. During three and a half centuries, 
there was not a sultan, from Mohammed II the 
Conqueror to Mahmoud II the Reformer, for whose 
magnificent passing, this portal was not almost daily 
opened wide. Sometimes while the sultan trembled 
within, the Janissaries thundered at the brazen panels 
of the gate, until their bloody hunger was appeased 
by the corpses of the noblest in the state, cast at their 
feet.” 

Within the court, or enclosure of the Seraglio 
proper, were once clustered pavilions, palaces, 
mosques, baths, fountains, etc., promiscuously scat¬ 
tered in endless variety. Most of them have been 
burned; yet a few remain, to attest the former 
grandeur. Here is the Hall of the Throne, where the 
sultan once received homage and granted audience; 
here the Treasure House, once filled with untold 
riches, and still containing a wonderful store of jewels 


26 


Variety Papers 


and priceless relics; here is the Imperial Museum, 
containing marvelous specimens of Greek art — 
among them, a superb sarcophagus, the most beauti¬ 
ful in the world, made probably to the order of Alex¬ 
ander the Great, by the sculptor Lysippus, for the 
body of a favorite officer of Alexander; here, too, is 
the Chamber of the Holy Mantle, containing five 
cherished relics of the Prophet, including the 
Sacred Standard, which, unfurled on memorable 
battlefields and in national crises, has more than once 
inflamed Mussulman zeal to a pitch of frenzy. 

Beyond the court of the Seraglio are terraced gar¬ 
dens, rich in bloom and fragrance, with flights of 
marble steps descending to the sea. 

Many of the buildings within and around the 
courts of the quarter known as the Old Seraglio are 
now used for Government offices. The residence of 
the sultan was removed hence on the completion of 
the Palace of Dolma Bagtche. 

I have told you of the commanding situation of 
Constantinople, of its marvelously attractive scenery, 
of its strangely mixed populations, of its dominant 
religion, of its superb mosques, magnificent palaces 
and mysterious seraglios. Unquestionably there is 
here a high degree of civilization: there is also con¬ 
siderable learning; for the Prophet commanded en¬ 
couragement to “ men of the book.” Yet most of the 
chief officers of state are such as have acquired a good 
part of their education in Western Europe — many 
of them in Paris. All are accomplished gentlemen. 


The City of the Golden Horn 


27 


The questions doubtless present themselves to 
your minds: What may we expect of all this? Is 
Turkey progressive? Will it ever escape the thral¬ 
dom of a degrading, sensual faith? Will it become 
enlightened? 

The tales of bitter fanaticism, of atrocious cruelties, 
and of horrible massacres, which come to us so often, 
are fraught with discouragement. Yet there is much 
in the records of the nineteenth century to inspire 
hope. 

Mahmoud II, the grandfather of the present 
sultan, was a great reformer. His destruction of the 
Janissaries was but one of his many important 
achievements. It may be doubted whether any 
sovereign of such perverse subjects could have accom¬ 
plished more. 

His son, Abdul Medjid, a ruler of less vigor, yet 
remarkable for his liberal tendencies, soon after 
coming to the throne, promulgated a veritable Magna 
Charta of Turkish liberties. It guaranteed to all sub¬ 
jects security for life, honor and fortune; it established 
anew a regular system of assessing and levying taxes 
— declaring they should be according to the means of 
each person; it provided for an equally regular 
system of levying troops and limiting the terms of 
their service; it proscribed monopolies; it “ promised 
laws that should fix the expenses of the land and sea 
forces, with the contingent of each locality”; it 
“ ordered that every cause should be tried publicly 
according to the civil and religious laws ”; that every 


28 


Variety Papers 


subject should hold and dispose of his property in all 
freedom; and that the estates of a criminal should not 
be confiscated nor his heirs deprived of their legal 
rights. 

Afterwards Turkey became a party to the Treaty 
of Berlin, which secured further pledges of reform. 
Among these were assurances of better administra¬ 
tion in the Island of Crete and in all districts inhabited 
by Armenians; also a guaranty of religious liberty 
throughout the Turkish Empire. 

In 1856 Abdul Medjid issued another proclamation, 
which was pronounced the most notable ever coming 
from a Moslem ruler. It was for the good especially 
of his Christian subjects; and provided for the con¬ 
firmation and enlargement of the benefits previously 
guarantied to them and assured by the Treaty of 
Berlin. 

But you may ask: Were these promises meant to 
be fulfilled; is it not a principle with the followers of 
the Prophet that “ no faith is to be kept with an in¬ 
fidel ”? So far as Abdul Medjid was concerned, I 
have little doubt that his promises were sincere. Of 
the purposes of his son, Abdul Hamid II, I forbear 
to speak.* 


* Abdul Hamid II was deposed, April 26, 1909 (some years 
after the above was written), as the result of an almost bloodless 
revolution, headed by the Young Turkish Party. He was suc¬ 
ceeded by his younger brother, Mehmed V, who — like the older 
brother, Mourad V (see page 23) — had been long imprisoned 
in a palace. 














































































Bedouin Arabs 






The City of the Golden Horn 


29 


Undoubtedly it is a rule of the Moslem faith that 
no compact is to be kept which is plainly and directly 
hostile to the religion of the Prophet — just as it is a 
rule of Christianity that no compact is to be kept 
which is unquestionably opposed to the precepts of 
our Saviour. But Moslem authorities have long recog¬ 
nized the desirableness of greater religious toleration, 
and to a considerable extent have maintained it; 
although, in some instances, they have permitted and 
undoubtedly encouraged shameful persecutions and 
inhuman massacres. 

Yet that much has been gained in the East, Chris¬ 
tian missionaries frankly admit; notwithstanding it 
is only a beginning. Let us remember, however, that 
the accomplishment of the needed reforms is attended 
with almost insuperable difficulties. The great di¬ 
versity of populations — speaking many languages 
and ranging in advancement all the way from gross 
barbarism to marked civilization, — the various re¬ 
ligions besides Mohammedanism, the numerous sects 
even among the Moslems, the lack in some parts of 
the empire of any well-settled industries, the warlike 
and predatory character of tribes long at variance, 
and withal a deeply rooted spirit of oriental conserva¬ 
tism, render the establishment of the proposed re¬ 
forms, and especially the effecting of a speedy change, 
nearly impossible. Besides, the best efforts of the 
sultan in a liberal direction are liable to be thwarted 
by those averse to radical measures, especially by the 
Old Turkish Party, whom to set at defiance might 


30 Variety Papers 

result in his dethronement and not unlikely in his 
death. 

But let us live in hope. Much is to come, not only 
from the efforts of the representatives of foreign 
governments and from the work of Christian mission¬ 
aries, but also from the rapid growth of intercourse 
with enlightened nations. 

Already commerce is opening new avenues through 
the heart of the empire, and is offering its choicest 
boons as a stimulus to enterprise. Natural greed 
prompts the more enlightened Turks to their accept¬ 
ance. The railway, the steamship and the telegraph 
are slowly but surely supplanting tardier means of 
communication. Ere long the toilsome caravan, with 
its heavily laden camels and pack-mules, will become 
a thing of the past. Where now are the ruins of 
ancient cities will be busy marts of trade. The desert 
will again blossom as the rose; the light of modern 
science will irradiate the Ottoman mind; and Moslem 
exclusiveness will yield to Christian philanthropy. 


II 


CLIMBING MONT BLANC IN A SNOW¬ 
STORM 

Swiss guides claim that, with the help they afford, 
there is but little danger in scaling their rugged moun¬ 
tain peaks and traversing the broken and slippery 
glaciers. Yet, every year, many lives are lost in such 
ventures, and scores of travelers recount fresh perils. 

The Swiss newspapers say little on the subject. 
But the Government requires the erection of safe¬ 
guards at many points, and forbids persons, without 
a license — after ample proofs of fitness — to conduct 
mountain climbers. Besides, the guides are organized 
into associations, having public offices and enforcing 
stringent rules. 

At one time, many small crosses marked the places 
where serious accidents had occurred; but the crosses 
at length became so numerous, it was thought best to 
remove them lest they should cause alarm. 

It was on my way to a spot of peculiar interest to 
me, once marked by such a cross, that I first set foot 
on a glacier. High on the narrow path which skirts 
the great Grindelwald ice-fall and beneath the shadow 
of frowning rocks, my sister had gone over a precipice, 
on horseback. The earth and stones had given way 
beneath the hind feet of the beast; and down he went, 
dragging the guide who clung to his bits, till all struck 


31 


32 


Variety Papers 


upon a narrow shelf of rock about thirty feet below. 
Here the lady and her guide chanced to lodge, while 
the horse rolled over, and, tumbling to the bottom of 
the ravine, was dashed in pieces. Bruised, bleeding, 
insensible, and with her right ear nearly torn from her 
head, the unfortunate woman was rescued by her 
husband from the perilous situation, and was borne, 
with the aid of the guide — who escaped serious 
injury — to a place of safety. A fortnight’s confine¬ 
ment to her room at a hotel, under skillful surgical 
treatment, restored her, so she was able to travel; 
although, for many years afterwards, she suffered 
from the nervous shock. 

The guide who conducted me to the place of the 
accident, also accompanied me beyond, and pointed 
out the scenes of similar disasters. In one of these 
accidents, a young Englishman, whose body now lies 
in the little churchyard at Grin del wald, went down to 
his death. 

From the brow of a lofty crag overhanging the path, 
the guide’s father, while chamois hunting in winter, 
had been swept by an avalanche — burying his life¬ 
less form in the snow. Near the foot of the crag, I saw 
a woman, sitting with her back to the wall of rock, 
overcome with fright at the dreadful abyss below. 
Her face was of death-like pallor; her eyes, protrud¬ 
ing and glassy. She seemed literally a frozen statue 
of terror. How she was relieved, I know not. No 
hoof-prints now mark the path; for it has been dis¬ 
used for horses. 


Climbing Mont Blanc in a Snowstorm 33 

The day after my visit to Grindelwald Glacier, I 
went through Lausanne and Montreux to Martigny. 
As I passed the Castle of Chillon on the northern 
shore ol Lake Leman, I thought of the good Prior 
Bonnivard, imprisoned in the depths of the castle, 
chained to a column, around which he walked till his 
footsteps wore a path in the stone, — and of the words 
which Byron puts in his mouth: — 

“ My hair is gray, but not with years, 

Nor grew it white 
In a single night, 

As men’s have grown with sudden fears: 

My limbs are bow’d, though not with toil, 

But rusted with a vile repose, 

For they have been a dungeon’s spoil, 

And mine has been the fate of those 
To whom the goodly earth and air 
Are bann’d and barr’d — forbidden fare; 

But this was for my father’s faith, 

I suffered chains and courted death.” 

Everywhere the mountain districts of Switzerland 
have been the nurseries of a strong religious faith. 

After a comfortable night at an inn in Martigny, I 
went on, over the Tete Noir Pass, to Chamouni. As 
I saw elderly women dragging loaded handcarts up 
the long, steep mountain-road—sometimes with the 
aid of little children, or of dogs, — I was impressed 
with the toilsome lives of many of the Swiss peasantry. 
Wherever a spot is found suitable for cultivation, 
even though but a few hundred feet below the snow 
line, there the soil is tilled, — the mountain sides, in 


34 


Variety Papers 


some places, being cut into terraces edged with inter¬ 
laced sticks and with slight abutments of stone to 
hold the earth. 

During my first two days at Chamouni, the weather 
was dull and lowering; Mont Blanc was wrapped in 
impenetrable mists. Indeed, I could scarcely believe 
I was at the foot of the most towering peak in the 
Old World, west of the Caucasus. But the clouds at 
length scattered, and the summit shone out in such 
snowy luster that it seemed close at. hand. 

On the second day, in company with an Italian 
count of broken fortune, who served me as a guide, 
I ascended, by a rude pathway through a pine forest, 
as far as Montanvert; and thence, unattended, 
crossed the Mer de Glace, to the Chapeau. It seemed 
a bold venture; for, although well equipped with 
alpenstock and hob-nailed shoes, I was not yet so 
experienced in glacier walking as to be fully confident 
of my footing. I omit recounting my experience; 
since enough of the kind will be told a little later. 

From the Chapeau — a high rock, of hat-crown 
shape, — there is a superb dew of the Mer de Glace, 
where it crowds through a narrow pass between the 
cliffs. The glacial ice is broken into fantastic shapes, 
sometimes enormous blocks which dissolve into 
pyramids and needles and reflect a dazzling radiance 
beneath the noonday sun. 

At the lateral moraine on the farther side, I strug¬ 
gled downward over a slippery path, strewn with 
bowlders, and often through deep gullies between the 


Climbing Mont Blanc in a Snowstorm 


35 


edge of the glacier and massive ledges of rock. Here 
and there, I lowered myself by ropes stretched from 
rock to rock, — or, clinging to the ropes, slid down 
the precipitous way. 

The count had left me at Montan vert; and return¬ 
ing by way of our ascent, had passed along the foot of 
the glacier to the farther side, where, with a saddle 
horse, he awaited my arrival. 

I was soon mounted; and proceeding a little way 
up the valley, crossed the River Arve and began the 
ascent of the formidable mountain-buttress known as 
La Flegere. For a little distance, the path ran near a 
glacier. Leaving the saddle, I climbed, with the aid 
of my alpenstock, upon the ice; but had not gone far, 
before my guide informed me the situation was 
perilous, and advised my return. Continuing, by a 
zigzag path up the stony slope, we came in about two 
hours to the small inn known as the Croix de la 
Flegere. 

From the brow of the mountain and across the 
Chamouni valley, we saw, in all its grandeur, the 
entire length of the Mont Blanc range. Its jagged 
peaks, somber with declining day, pierced the clouds; 
and their dark masses strangely contrasted with the 
milk-white glaciers and rounded snowy crests which 
lay between, and with the broken forests that strag¬ 
gled upward from the base. Through the valley 
below, ran the Arve and Aveyron, like slender silver 
ribbons, crumpled here and there with tiny rapids. 
A few Swiss cottages dotted the landscape, and two 


36 


Variety Papers 


or three church spires rose in the distance. With 
reluctance, we turned from the enchanting scene; 
and in the lengthening shadows of evening, wended 
our way back to the little village of Chamouni — so 
fraught with pleasant recollections. 

Opposite me, at the hotel table, sat three English 
ladies. The elder, whom I may call Miss C., was, 
as I afterwards learned, a relative of the poet Words¬ 
worth, who had often visited at her father’s house. 
The two younger, apparently in her charge, were 
charming sisters, who had just blossomed into woman¬ 
hood. A slight conversation at mealtime led to fur¬ 
ther sociability, which soon ripened into a pleasant 
acquaintance. 

Both the young ladies were anxious to attempt the 
difficult ascent of Mont Blanc, over the Glacier des 
Bossons. They appealed to my judgment to deter¬ 
mine whether they and their companion could not 
go at least as far as the Grands Mulets. I had seen 
them before on the Mer de Glace, and had observed 
that they walked with a firm step and a confident air. 
They assured me, they were accustomed to long and 
severe tramps. Their bright eyes and ruddy cheeks 
betokened the hardihood of English ladies accustomed 
to spend much of their time in the open air. I 
replied, therefore, affirmatively; for experience in 
mountaineering with ladies had taught me, long 
before, that many a woman will bear quite as much 
fatigue as a good average man. 

My opinion was reported to Miss C., and, after a 


i 




Our Mont Blanc Party 










Climbing Mont Blanc in a Snowstorm 37 

little deliberation, the three proposed the attempt, 
if I would accompany them. To this, I cheerfully 
consented; for it was my purpose, long before enter¬ 
ing Switzerland, to ascend Mont Blanc to as great a 
height as travelers often attempt. But I little foresaw 
the hardships and perils to be overcome. 

Under the rules applicable to such parties, we were 
required to take with us three guides and a porter. 
A stalwart member of the Devouassoud family — 
who were among the most noted guides in Switzer¬ 
land — became our leader; the sturdy Count made a 
good second; a smaller youthful guide, who had a 
smattering of English, became the third; and a tall 
brother of the before-named Devouassoud served as 
porter. 

On the morning of July 31, the sun rose in clouds, 
and a drizzling misty rain prevailed; but the sky soon 
cleared, and the guides assured us of a pleasant day, 
a prediction by no means fulfilled. 

Mounted upon the backs of mules led by our at¬ 
tendants, and climbing a rugged mountain path on 
the left of the Glacier des Bossons, we came in about 
three hours to the little refreshment-station at Pierre 
Pointue. Here, leaving our mules, we rested half an 
hour, and indulged in a simple meal. 

The hard task of the day was before us. Clad in 
garments of moderate warmth, with hob-nailed shoes 
and stout leggins, and wearing blue glass goggles — 
the latter for the protection of our eyes against the 
glare of light from the snow and ice, — we cheerfully 


38 


Variety Papers 


sallied forth. The ladies and myself were provided, 
each, with a stout alpenstock having a sharp spike 
firmly set in the lower end. Our attendants were 
provided in like manner, each, with an ice ax having 
an adze-shaped transverse blade, tapering toward the 
rear into a strong pick, and set on a handle about 
four feet and a half long, ending, like an alpenstock, 
in an iron spike. The blades were used occasionally 
for cutting steps for the feet or notches for the hands 
in the icy steeps, — often for scraping away the snow 
to make sure of our footing. The picks served, when 
needful, to strike deep into the ice, so as to draw one’s 
self up with them when scaling abrupt walls. Two 
of our guides carried coils of rope, with which we 
could be lashed together when on perilous footing. 

For half an hour, we traveled over a mass of shaly 
rock, strewn with loose stones. Here and there we 
crept along the face of frightful declivities stretching 
down hundreds of feet into ice-filled ravines. On 
reaching these declivities, we were tied together in 
two parties. The ropes were bound about us beneath 
the arms, leaving about eight feet between each 
person and the next one following, — and, a little in 
front of each, with the exception of the leader, 
was formed a slipping noose which was grasped with 
the hand and served, in case of a fall, to prevent, by 
its drawing out, a sudden and violent jerk upon the 
neighboring members of the party. The ropes were 
not removed until we reached our destination in the 
evening. 


Climbing Mont Blanc in a Snowstorm 39 

We came at last to the border of the great glacier. 
Picture it clearly in your mind’s eye. Imagine a 
depression in the mountain side, five or six miles in 
length and from half a mile to two or three miles in 
breadth, — filled with partially melted downward- 
creeping ice —in some places, perhaps, a thousand 
feet thick. It was partly covered with snow, and, at 
intervals, rent with fissures or crevasses, some of 
them extending to the rocky bed beneath. Down 
the ravine, the glacier irresistibly pushed its way, 
conforming in a measure to the surface beneath, 
here and there rough and precipitous, occasionally 
tossed into billows and strewn with masses of ice, but 
oftener presenting gentle slopes. It was as if a sea 
had suddenly burst its bounds, and, as it rushed 
impetuously to a lower level, the Frost-King had 
stretched forth his scepter and arrested it in its mad 
career. Heaved out at its sides were ragged rocks, 
huge bowlders, smaller rolling stones, and broken 
debris, forming a lateral moraine which in many 
places was impassable. 

Cautiously picking our way amid such obstruc¬ 
tions, we came to a perpendicular wall of rock. 
Along the face of this, we clambered, treading upon 
a slippery shelf, so narrow that it would scarcely 
afford a foothold. But we hugged closely to the 
wall, and clung to iron bolts with which it was 
sparsely studded, till at last we reached a point 
where we climbed upon the ice above. 

As I stepped upon the glacier, and surveyed its 


40 


Variety Papers 


immensity, here and there tossed into confusion and 
plunging downward in frozen cataracts, I thought of 
the lines of Coleridge: — 

“ Ye ice-falls! ye that from the mountain’s brow, 

Adown enormous ravines, slope amain — 

Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, 

And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge, — 
Motionless torrents! silent cataracts! 

Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven 
Beneath the keen full moon? Who, with living flowers 
Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet? 

God! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, 

Answer; and let the ice-plains echo, God! 

God! sing ye meadow-streams with gladsome voice, 

Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds! 

And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow, 

And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God! ” 

My heart thrilled with emotion at the sublimity of 
the scene and at the thought of the adventurous 
struggle which awaited us in scaling these frozen 
ramparts, barred with such aw T ful intrenchments. 

Snow had begun falling before we reached the gla¬ 
cier. Now it drove full in our faces, and presently 
thickened into an almost blinding storm. But, en¬ 
couraged by the guides with the hope it would soon 
cease, we pressed on. Yet the snowstorm continued, 
with but little abatement, throughout most of the day. 

Soon we grew familiar with stepping over, or leap¬ 
ing across, narrow crevasses penetrating in some in¬ 
stances to a fearful depth. Here and there we were 
forced to make our way across more formidable 


Climbing Mont Blanc in a Snowstorm 41 

openings in the glacier, over ice-bridges only twenty 
or thirty inches vide, with deep yawning chasms on 
each side. But we planted our alpenstocks firmly in 
the treacherous frozen mass, and set each step care¬ 
fully before taking the next. Occasionally the ap¬ 
proach to a narrow bridge was down a steep, 
almost perpendicular, wall of ice, along the face of 
which we slid six or eight feet, striking our alpen¬ 
stocks as we alighted. Sometimes, however, the 
guides cut two or three rude steps, to aid in the de¬ 
scent or in climbing up on the opposite side. 

The loose snow had now deepened several inches, 
and walking became much more laborious. 

Ere long we were high up on the face of sharp 
acclivities, where a downward slip would hurl us to 
certain destruction. The thunder of avalanches occa¬ 
sionally filled our ears; and, far off, we saw vast 
snowslides and the ascending snow-spray which 
thickened the air. Our guides charged us to move 
cautiously and silently, lest a snow-mass above 
should be loosened and sweep down upon us. 

At first, they had watched me carefully; but, at 
length, remarking that I was a good glacier-walker, 
they gave me little or no attention. The ladies most 
needed their care. Yet presently it flashed across 
me, if I should lose my footing on one of these perilous 
steeps, that — as I was roped at the extreme rear of 
the party and was unobserved, with the tall porter in 
front, who might be toppled over like a slender spire 
in a hurricane, — no human aid could be prompt 


42 


Variety Papers 


enough to rescue me. Tied fast to three of my com¬ 
panions, I should drag them down to a horrible 
death. My blood chilled in my veins at the dreadful 
prospect, not so much, however, from fear for my 
own safety as from thought that the guides were 
trusting too implicitly to my skill as a mountaineer, 
and that some one of the ladies whom I had counseled 
to the perilous ascent might lose her life through my 
ignorant and ill-considered advice. I would have 
given all the gold on my person to have been well 
back in Chamouni, or to have been alone with the 
guides. Yet I spoke not a syllable; but, reflecting on 
their long experience and good judgment, directly 
regained my composure. Had I then understood the 
use of the slipping nooses in the rope which bound us 
together and their drawing out so as to prevent a 
sudden violent jerk in case of an unexpected fall, I 
should have been less disquieted. 

At length we reached a gentler slope, and plodded 
on wearily through the deepening snow. The hot 
July sun shone out fitfully, and the chill of the icy 
air which had slightly benumbed our hands was 
somewhat abated. But a new source of peril appeared. 
We had been over five hours upon the glacier, engaged 
in the most toilsome ascent, and the strength of the 
ladies apparently was giving out. A halt was called, 
and we dropped in the snow for rest. The foremost 
guide drew from his pocket a flask of brandy, and 
poured out a small allowance for each. All, but my¬ 
self, accepted it. T declined the stimulus — preferring 


Climbing Mont Blanc in a Snowstorm 43 

to eat two or three small crackers I had put in my 
pocket, which proved sufficiently refreshing. A few 
moments’ respite in our mountain-climbing helped to 
revive us, and shortly we resumed the ascent. We 
passed the Pyramids of the Glacier — huge blocks of 
ice thrown up from its surface, — some of them, that 
had been long melting in the sun, pyramidal, — 
others, of later origin, square or oblong and nearly as 
large as a good-sized dwelling house. They were 
strewn here and there, as if Titans had wrenched 
them from their native bed and hurled them about 
in wild confusion. Our progress through their midst 
seemed like a march through chaos. Few objects 
which I saw during our trip impressed me more with 
the tremendous forces of Nature. 

After struggling about an hour and a half longer 
up the mountain side, against the blinding storm, we 
met two descending travelers, with three guides. 
They were reclining in the snow for rest; and, as we 
passed them, one of the travelers was heard to say, 
“ I don’t see how the guides can get those ladies over 
that crevasse. 1 ' 

A half hour later, we realized what he meant. We 
came to a freshly opened crevasse, five or six feet in 
breadth, with a perpendicular wall of ice on the oppo¬ 
site side rising as high as our faces. We had no 
ladder; but we must cross it, or our women would 
sink exhausted in the snow. Their return was impos¬ 
sible ; the way was too long, and the day too far spent. 

The guides deliberated. Presently our leader, 


44 


Variety Papers 


Devouassoud, stepped to the edge of the crevasse 
and directed that the slipping noose in the rope 
between him and his nearest companion should be 
drawn out. Then, poising himself on the brink of 
the crevasse, he ordered us to hold fast to the rope 
and lower him forward at the shoulders until he 
could reach with his ax the other side. Standing at 
a perilous inclination to the opposite wall of ice, he 
proceeded to cut a step in it nearly on a level with 
our feet. Then, scraping the snow from the brink of 
the wall above, he cut a notch a little beyond, for his 
hand. Drawn back to his former position, he directed 
us to advance until we had given him about two 
yards of loose rope and then stand firm. Hardly had 
we done this, before he leaped lightly across: one foot 
rested upon the opposite step; his left hand caught 
in the notch; and, his right hand dealing a sweeping 
blow with his reversed ax, he drove the stout pick in 
its rear firmly into the ice beyond. It was but the 
work of an instant for him to clamber up. We held 
our breath as we witnessed the attempt, but gave a 
glad shout as we saw him standing on the other side. 
In a few moments, he had planted the handle of his 
ax deep in the glacier, a little beyond the crevasse; 
and, having trodden down the snow about it and tied 
the rope to the handle, close to the ice, he called on 
us to cross. At this juncture, two porters descending 
from the Grands Mulets arrived; and volunteering to 
assist our leader, spoke encouraging words. 

The first to respond was Margaret, the elder of the 


Climbing Mont Blanc in a Snowstorm 45 

two young ladies, — possibly a little beyond her ’teens. 
But she was of heroic English stock. Nothing 
daunted, although fully realizing the gravity of the 
situation, she stepped boldly to the brink of the cre¬ 
vasse. Her gaze was riveted upon the opposite wall; 
her color came and went; her chest rose and fell with 
labored breathing: she lingered a full minute; then, 
summoning all her courage, leaped. Her foot struck 
the opposite step; the ice crumbled beneath it; she 
slipped off, and fell with a heavy jerk. But she was 
sustained by the rope: the men on the other side 
quickly pulled it in, lifted her up, — and she was 
drawn over the wall, in safety. 

The rest of the party speedily followed; but none 
of them found support upon the opposite step. Each 
of the ladies showed the utmost heroism. ’Linda, 
the youngest, surprised me with her courage; for 
she leaped without hesitancy. Before Miss C. leaped, 
the slipping noose of the rope in front of her, through 
some oversight, was not withdrawn. She sprang 
across the chasm; her foot missed the step; the 
noose was pulled out; she dropped, about eight feet, 
into the depths; the rope jerked violently, but was 
not broken. To my surprise, she was drawn up, 
scarcely frightened and almost unhurt. My own turn 
came last. There was no one behind, to uphold me; 
I could be aided only by those on the farther side. 
I jumped into the chasm, dangled at the rope’s end 
* like a criminal from the gallows, and was ignomini- 
ously hauled up. 


46 


Variety Paper* 


The guides again refreshed the exhausted members 
of the party with brandy. The toilsome march was 
resumed. But each step grew more wearisome. We 
had been many hours on the glacier, and were walking 
ankle-deep in snow — much of the time up a steep 
incline. Our feet dragged painfully over the almost 
interminable acclivity. Repeatedly I asked myself, 
Will the end ever be reached? I learned afterwards 
that many persons who knew of our set-out were much 
alarmed lest we should be lost in the severity of the 
storm. 

At length, high up among the pinnacles of rock 
which overtopped the glacier, we descried the little 
chalet that was to shelter us for the night. The eve¬ 
ning shades were fast creeping on, and we were almost 
ready to drop. But we uttered a cry of joy; and 
pressed on, up the long and precipitous slope to the 
Grands Mulets, until at last, our hearts overflowing 
with gratitude, we entered the hospitable door. 
Thanks to a kind Providence and to the skill of our 
guides, we were not only in a place of safety, but at 
the highest point we had hoped to reach — a little 
over ten thousand feet above the sea. 

The chalet was but a small cabin, with walls of 
rough stone broken from the mountain-side. It 
contained only four rooms, one used for a kitchen 
and dining room, the others for lodgings. A low 
attic, entered through a small opening in the ceiling 
by means of a ladder, served as a sleeping place for 
the guides and porters. 


Climbing Mont Blanc in a Snowstorm 47 

The house was kept by a wiry little Swiss woman, 
Marie Terrasse, who was not only hostess, but clerk, 
cook, chamber-maid, nurse, purveyor of needful wraps, 
and vender of warm garments and knickknacks. 
She was a complete retinue in herself. But Marie 
knew how to command, and the guides and porters 
were submissive. Cleanliness was none too carefully 
observed; and we found it wise to remember we were 
“ roughing it,” and not to see over-much. Our party, 
especially the ladies, were as kindly and attentively 
cared for as the multifarious duties of the hostess 
would permit. Soon we were refreshed with a hearty 
meal, and were merrily talking over the events 
of the day. 

Marie told us that sometimes thirty persons had 
been entertained here over night; but that she was 
often alone, — and, in a few instances during a long 
storm, had spent a fortnight in this dreary abode, 
without a single companion. Fortunately the weather 
here, in summer, is seldom severely cold; for but one 
fire is kept — both for warming the house and for 
cooking, — and whatever supply of coal is requisite 
must be brought up on the backs of porters. Pro¬ 
visions are transported in the same way. 

The only guest at the chalet, besides ourselves, was 
a Russian gentleman, who, starting several hours 
before us, and favored longer with clear weather, 
had attempted to reach the top of the mountain. 
But, when only about a third of the way beyond the 
Grands Mulets, he and his guide had been driven back 


48 


Variety Papers 


by the blinding snowstorm and the fierce blasts which 
threatened to sweep them from the sharp crests. 
Twice before, in former years, he had tried unsuccess¬ 
fully to reach the summit; but he assured me, he 
should persevere until he accomplished the task. 
Two days later, favored by exceptionally calm and 
clear weather, he won his way, and stood, triumph¬ 
ant, upon the highest point of the Alps — 15,730 feet 
above the sea. 

At the office of the guides in Chamouni, where a 
careful record is kept of the ascent of every traveler, 
I was informed that, on an average, only two or three 
a year reach the summit; although many more report, 
they have climbed to the top. 

Not long after supper, I crept out alone into the 
night. Oh, the blackness of the darkness; oh, the 
desolation and solitude! Declining day had chained 
the snow masses to the steep crags; no longer was 
heard the roar of avalanches; everywhere solemn 
stillness prevailed. Standing upon the rugged rocks, 
I could but faintly discern the interlocking edge of 
the glacier. Dead Nature lay, in her winding sheet, 
before me. But a pall of gloom stretched between. I 
put forth my hand; it seemed almost as if I could 
clutch the darkness. I stooped down, and felt my 
way, clinging to the rock, lest I should be precipitated 
over a jutting cliff. My eyes refused to perform their 
office; before them, hung a black veil. I strained my 
vision — to look, as it were, into Hades. But no 
answering spirit rose up to meet my gaze. I was alone, 


Climbing Mont Blanc in a Snowstorm 49 

terribly alone. Shrinking, appalled, from the gloom, 
I crawled, almost upon my hands and knees, back 
to the door of the cabin. The worn-out inmates had 
gone to rest. I retired to a room, where I found the 
weary Russian snoring upon a mattress; and was 
soon wrapped in blankets and lost in dreams. 

The sun rose, next morning, bright and clear. An 
early start was proposed, for the descent of the moun¬ 
tain ; since it was desirable to look out a new way, so 
as to avoid the formidable crevasse. Alpine guides 
always follow substantially the same route between 
important points, until it becomes impracticable; 
and then, with much care, seek out a new one. It is 
remarkable, with what seeming instinct they direct 
their course through the pathless snows. 

But one incident of our descent of Mont Blanc is 
of special interest. Coming to a long and precipitous 
slope, the guides requested us to lie down, in single 
file, flat on our backs, — with our feet directed 
toward the bottom of the steep, but raised consider¬ 
ably above the snow. Then, at a given signal, we 
were told to slide; and away we went, dashing down 
the mountain side, with fast-increasing speed, until 
we shot far out upon a gentler incline, and came to a 
halt. It was the wildest kind of tobogganing, — yet 
with no toboggan but the clothing on our backs. 

Soon after we had regained our feet, I missed a 
small flask of eau-de-vie, which, at the request of the 
ladies, before starting, I had put in my pocket, for their 
refreshment in case of exhaustion. I mentioned the 


50 


Variety Papers 


loss to one of the guides; and, against my earnest 
protest and assertion that it was irretrievably lost, 
he insisted on going back for its recovery. I don’t 
know whether Alpine guides ever have noses like St. 
Bernard dogs, capable of smelling out whatever is 
buried in the snow; but one thing is certain, — he 
went almost straight to the flask, and, in a few mo¬ 
ments, returned, holding it up triumphantly. As I 
congratulated and thanked him, he looked wistful 
volumes at me. But — shall I say it to my shame? —• 
I omitted inviting him to share with me in the con¬ 
tents of the flask. 

Our descent of the mountain took about nine hours. 
It was quicker and less fatiguing than the ascent, 
although scarcely less perilous; for the narrow ice- 
bridges we crossed were more numerous, — and some, 
lower down in the crevasses and more difficult to 
reach. Yet peril is the spice of adventure. A courage¬ 
ous person enjoys battling with difficulties, and finds 
pleasure in conquering dangers. 

You may ask me: Does climbing Mont Blanc 
pay; is it not a fool-hardy venture? I answer: You 
cannot enjoy the full grandeur and sublimity of the 
mountain scenery without ascending its lofty heights. 
If you would behold the greatest wonders of Nature, 
if you would realize something of her mightiest forces, 
stand amid the eternal snows, and look out over the 
neighboring Alpine summits; see how the Earth’s 
crust has been torn and rent, how it is ridged and 
peaked with terrestrial masses rising from the bloom 


Climbing Mont Blanc in a Snowstorm 51. 

and beauty of summer into arctic desolation and 
solitude; behold the awful crags, amidst which the 
Frost-King has fixed his enduring throne ; gaze upon 
the clouds beneath, here and there screening the 
valleys, and see their bosoms riven with jagged 
lightnings as they pour out summer showers; sur¬ 
vey the enormous ice-fields, from which cascades leap 
forth and rivers rush down the mountain sides; 
listen to the thunder of the avalanches, and watch 
the snow-spray floating away in the misty air; see 
the huge glacial fragments, glittering in the noonday 
sun and challenging his fiercest rays; watch, at eve¬ 
ning’s decline, the roseate glow which touches the pure 
white summits with a maternal kiss, as they are 
folded to rest in the bosom of Night. Can you look 
upon such a panorama as this, and your heart be 
unmoved with a sense of the Divine Presence? Can 
aught else beneath the stars rival it in majesty? 

I would not give my two days’ experience on the 
heights of Mont Blanc for years of life’s common level, 
replete with the choicest pleasures, but devoid of 
heroic achievement. 


Ill 


WONDERS OF THE HUMAN MIND 

Milton, in describing the banishment of the fallen 
archangel to the infernal world, represents him as 
solacing himself with the thought that he is superior 
to outward circumstances, — and as exclaiming, at 
the sight of his gloomy abode: — 

“ The mind is its own place; and, in itself, 

Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.” 

Perhaps no stronger words were ever used to denote 
the supremacy of intellectual being. Yet, exalted as 
is this being, it is so identified, in man, with his 
material substance, that many philosophers have 
doubted whether the human intellect or soul can exist 
beyond the body or can last beyond the natural life. 
Some consideration, therefore, of the constitution of 
the human mind may be desirable at the beginning 
of our discussion. 

Mind may be defined as the thinking and emotional 
part of our being. To what portion of our organic 
structure it is limited is not absolutely determined. 

The ancients fixed the seat of reason in the brain; 
of the emotions, in the heart and reins. The Sacred 
Scriptures speak of believing with the heart — re¬ 
ferring, however, to such belief as inspires feeling, or 
a disposition to trust and to act in accordance with the 


52 


Wonders of the Human Mind 


53 


belief. Thus it is said, “ With the heart, man be- 
lieveth unto righteousness. ” So, on the other hand, 
it is said, “ My reins shall rejoice when thy lips speak 
right things.’’ The placing of the emotional nature in 
these parts undoubtedly was due to observing that 
they are powerfully affected by the emotions. 

We continue to use the word, heart, as synonymous 
with the affections and disposition; although modern 
science generally places both reason and the emotional 
faculties in the brain. 

The principal grounds, upon which it is contended 
that the human intellect or soul cannot exist beyond 
the body, are the following: — 

Through our personal consciousness, we know noth¬ 
ing of the activities of the intellect, except as they 
are manifest in the body. It grows with our growth, 
strengthens with our strength, reaches its maximum 
vigor during our healthy maturity, declines with 
bodily enfeeblement, — in old age, sinks into lassitude 
and imbecility, — and, at death, is seemingly ex¬ 
tinguished. 

The mind depends for its development mainly upon 
the senses. Nearly all its elementary ideas are gained 
through sight, hearing, touch, taste and smell. Some 
philosophers — Locke, for instance —contend that all 
knowledge is acquired through the senses. When 
therefore death closes the eyes, paralyzes the hearing, 
palsies the touch, and annihilates the taste and smell, 
what assurance have we that all the gates of intelli¬ 
gence are not shut and barred forever? 


54 


Variety Payers 


There is as good reason to believe that the brain is 
the great organ of thought as that the eye is the organ 
of sight. If the action of the brain is deadened by a 
blow, by intoxication, by an internal effusion of blood 
or water, or by other causes resulting from disease, — 
insensibility follows; and, during the period of in¬ 
sensibility, we have no more evidence of the existence 
of thought, either within or without the body, than of 
sight with closed eyes. If death ensues, and the brain 
is smitten into permanent inaction, why should we not 
conclude that thought and intelligence have ceased 
forever? If for an hour, why not for eternity? Even 
healthful slumber apparently deprives us of thought. 
We say that we have slept a dreamless sleep. May not 
the sleep of death be a never-ending unconsciousness?* 

Questions like these sometimes press upon us, and 
disturb the serenity of our faith in a hereafter. Does 
science afford an answer to such inquiries, or are we 
left solely to the testimony of the Inspired Word? 

While we must admit the dependence, to a great 
extent, of mind upon matter, in its ordinary relations 
with the human body, it is evident that, if treated as 
wholly dependent, it must be assumed that mind is 

* There is strong reason, however, to doubt whether the mind 
is ever wholly unconscious during sleep; for the want of conscious¬ 
ness is not proved by inability, on waking, to remember thoughts 
which occurred while asleep. In the following pages of this 
paper (see pp. 78-79) it is shown that but few of our thoughts — 
either waking or sleeping — are so impressed upon the memory 
as to be available, except under extraordinary circumstances or 
when the mind is in an abnormal state. 



Wonders of the Human Mind 


55 


the product of matter rather than matter of mind or 
of intelligent spirit. Yet as the material universe 
presents itself to our view as an organized structure, 
arranged in accordance with an intelligent design 
and acting wholly under law, we must infer the pre¬ 
vious existence of a designer and a law-giver. Even 
the ablest materialistic philosophers are forced to 
recognize the universality of law. From the origin 
of cloudy nebulae, to the development of suns and 
planets, each holding its assigned place or moving in 
a majestic orbit, unconflicting with the neighboring 
spheres, or from the beginning of bioplastic matter 
to the manifestations of the highest forms of animal 
life, it is plain that all has been wrought out by compe¬ 
tent forces, under the direction of a Supreme Intelli¬ 
gence. The harmony of the spheres testifies to the 
existence of a Creative Mind. The growth of the small¬ 
est flower, with its admirable arrangements for 
nutrition and reproduction, bespeaks an All-Wise 
Providence. But the human body, with its surpass¬ 
ingly intricate mechanisms, all working fitly to¬ 
gether, performing the most varied functions and 
largely submissive to an indwelling intelligence, 
affords unanswerable proof that it is the product of an 
Infinite Designer. We are forced, therefore, to con¬ 
clude that mind existed before matter, or that the 
Divine Spirit once brooded alone over an empty 
universe. 

In opposition to this conclusion, I believe that the 
only argument which can be adduced, with any show 


56 


Variety Papers 


of plausibility, is that of the pantheist: namely, 
that God is all, and all is God: and, therefore, that, if 
we assume he is self-existent and without beginning 
or end of days, we must concede that matter is un¬ 
created; that the Divine Spirit and the divine sub¬ 
stance always have coexisted in the same essential 
relations to each other; and that what we call the 
manifestations of the divine will in Nature, or Nature’s 
laws, are in reality not laws, since they were never 
ordained, but are only the eternal and unchangeable 
attributes of the Deity. 

Yet, as the consciousness of every individual testi¬ 
fies, in accordance with the common belief, that man 
is a distinct entity, and not merely an included vital 
portion of a universal being, or of a single person who 
comprises in himself every other so-called person or 
thing, living or dead, — I deem it needless, in the 
present brief paper, to point out the several fallacies 
of the pantheistic view. 

Assuming, then, that the Divine Mind, or Spirit, 
existed before all things else, and that it not only 
created matter, but from the beginning has maintained 
absolute supremacy over matter, does it seem reason¬ 
able to conclude that, in the exercise of its immeasur¬ 
able wisdom, it so constituted lesser minds as to make 
them a mere outgrowth of matter and, in the end, 
perishable with matter; or, in other words, that the 
Creator has so inwrought the human intellect with our 
corporeal substance that, at the dissolution of the 
body, it mil be annihilated or resolved into unrelated 


Wonders of the Human Mind 57 

elements? On the other hand, is it not far more likely 
that the human mind was created superior to the 
body; and that, as an intellectual or spiritual force, 
although it may be changed in its outward relations, 
it will survive the body — being not less persistent 
than any of the physical forces of Nature? 

Authorities in science tell us that natural force is 
never annihilated; that, although it may be changed 
in appearance, or in the character of its manifesta¬ 
tions, it remains the same in essence and in the meas¬ 
ure of its power; that a given amount of light, for 
instance, may be changed into a certain amount of 
heat, and this, again, into a certain amount of elec¬ 
tricity; that the process maybe reversed, and that 
either, in the same relative proportions, may be de¬ 
veloped from the other; but that each is an outcome 
of the same indestructible force — the manifestations, 
only, being varied by different subjective conditions. 
Reasoning, then, from analogy, are we not justified 
in presuming that the intellectual or spiritual force is 
equally persistent and indestructible? 

As the Divine Mind is creative, and from the 
beginning has exercised a shaping and controlling 
power over the universe it inhabits, may not the 
human mind also be so endowed as to be, in some 
measure, creative; and may it not, from the dawn 
of its instinctive intelligence — the inception of 
which, we have reason to believe, comes largely from 
the parents, and especially from the mother during 
the period of gestation — have unconsciously or in- 


58 


Variety Papers 


voluntarily exercised, to some extent, a shaping and 
controlling power over the body in which it dwells? 

It may be observed that the mind acts powerfully 
upon the body, not merely by the will, but by its 
purely intellectual and emotional states. 

Character is graven involuntarily upon the counte¬ 
nance, by thought and feeling, in lines of habitual 
expression marking the progress of its growth. How 
different is the face of the student, guiding his mental 
processes by the exercise of judgment and will, from 
that of the undisciplined thinker; how unlike, the 
lineaments of the man of brutal temper, to those of 
one of noble spirit; how different, the face of inno¬ 
cence, from that of passion and cruelty! Every 
artist, skilled in human portraiture, knows the out¬ 
ward signs of predominant traits of character. The 
saintliness of the Madonna and the hateful ness of the 
hag are pictured with equal facility. 

The power of the emotional nature over the body, 
exercised unconsciously or, to a great extent, irre¬ 
spective of volition, is manifest in almost numberless 
ways. It is seen in the frown of hatred, the smile of 
pleasure, the curling lip of scorn, the downcast ex¬ 
pression of sorrow, the upturned eye of devotion, the 
blush of modesty, and the pallor of fright. It is 
heard in the laughter of mirth, the groan of anguish, 
the gentle murmur of love, the sigh of disappoint¬ 
ment, the chuckle of satisfaction, the roar of anger, 
the cry of alarm, and the grumble of discontent. It 
brings tears to the eyes; it thrills the heart, or stops 


Wonders of the Human Mind, 59 

its beating, or fills it with a bursting sensation; it 
causes the choking feeling, of “ the heart coming up 
in the throat it arrests or quickens respiration; it 
starts a cold sweat; it takes away the power of speech 
and motion, or quickens to unusual activity; it bows 
the form, or straightens the figure and dilates the 
muscles; it makes haggard the face, or imparts to it 
a glow of animation; it brings fainting, convulsions, 
delirium and insensibility; it whitens the hair; it 
causes paralysis, apoplexy, and sometimes, death. 
These are but a few of the known effects of the mind 
upon the body, resulting from its emotional states, 
nearly or quite irrespective of the promptings of the 
will. Physicians and psychologists can add many 
more to the list. 

The influence of the mind upon the body, as a 
formative principle, or determinative involuntary 
force, is strikingly illustrated in certain cases of 
heredity — or of the abiding results, in the appear¬ 
ance and character of the child, of the mother’s 
thoughts and feelings during the period from the 
child’s conception to its birth. 

The present writer knew a poor boy who, year 
after year, wandered about the streets, presenting 
the appearance of wretched intoxication. His gait 
was staggering; his countenance, flushed; his speech, 
maudlin and incoherent, but not without a touch of 
humor; and his intellect, badly shattered, as if with 
habitual intemperance. Yet he was never, so far 
as the writer could learn, addicted to strong drink, 


60 


Variety Papers 


or partook of any stimulant which would cause 
drunkenness. The only explanation offered of his 
sad condition was that his mother, awhile before his 
birth, was startlingly impressed and to some extent 
alarmed by the appearance and conduct of a drunken 
man who attempted to force his way into her 
house. 

A case is reported, on the authority of Professor 
Lewis of Bellevue Hospital, New York, under whose 
personal observation it came, of a child who was 
born with letters on the white of its eyeball, like 
those on the dial of a watch. The mother of the 
child, the wife of a humble workingman, had 
strongly desired a watch, during the period of her 
pregnancy; but her husband was too poor to gratify 
her wish. 

Professor Dalton, in his “ Human Physiology/’ a 
standard work highly esteemed by physicians, declares 
there can no longer be any serious doubt that “ vari¬ 
ous deformities and deficiencies originate in certain 
cases from nervous impressions, such as disgust, fear 
or anger, experienced by the mother.” 

In view of these proofs that the mind acts, to no 
little extent, as a formative principle or determining 
force in the development of the body — by virtue of 
its intellectual and emotional states, irrespective of 
the will, — and that this is the case in the very 
incipiency of the body — the determining force pro¬ 
ceeding either from the mind of the mother or pos¬ 
sibly from the inchoate mind of the unborn child or 


Wonders of the Human Mind (>1 

from both, — the following question may be asked: 
Is it unreasonable to presume that, in the animal 
world, the evolution of species (sometimes, and 
perhaps generally, after the development, in pro¬ 
gressive order, with the aid of “ natural selection/’ 
of several intermediate varieties, neither sufficientlv 
differentiated from the former species to constitute a 
new one, yet each showing a peculiar adaptation to 
the conditions and circumstances of its daily life or of 
the range within which it is found) may be due, 
under divine law, primarily to the conception by its 
ancestral stock of the need or desirableness of such 
specific adaptation and to the earnest longing for its 
realization, — or to the conception, at least, of the 
fact of such adaptation, regardless of the mode in 
which it is brought about, and irrespective of any 
distinctive volition? 

But it may be observed that changes in the vege¬ 
table world, of this nature, resulting in the produc¬ 
tion of varieties and the origin of species, appear to 
occur in the same manner as in the animal, — thus 
suggesting the inquiry, Why should we not attribute 
both to like causes or to the same cause? It should 
be remembered, however, that the life of the vege¬ 
table is, in some respects, essentially different from 
that of the animal; and therefore that it is not 
altogether warrantable to reason from one to the 
other. Vegetable life, for instance, is so constituted 
that it draws its sustenance, in a great measure, from 
the soil, or directly from mineral matter: while 


Variety Papers 


62 


animal life is incapable of this; although, in building 
up the body, it appropriates like chemical elements, 
but in different proportions and, in good part, from 
what has been prepared beforehand as vegetable 
matter and, in many instances, transmuted thence 
into animal matter before serving its present use as 
animal nutriment. It should be remembered also 
that, as we, ourselves, are of an animal nature, and 
therefore can enter, through our personal conscious¬ 
ness, into that which concerns the animal, — as we 
cannot into that which relates to the vegetable, — 
we can assert, of our own positive knowledge, the 
existence in the animal of certain mental processes, 
followed by certain transformations, as we cannot 
assert, from like knowledge, the existence of any 
similar processes and transformations in the vege¬ 
table. 

Yet it is by no means certain that there is not, in 
the vegetable world, a low form of intellection equal 
to that which presumably exists, during a rudimen¬ 
tary condition, in the humblest of animal beings. We 
are told that “ there is a living body, called Mthalium 
septicum , which appears upon decaying vegetable 
substances, and, in one of its forms, is common upon 
the surfaces of tan-pits and that, “ in this condi¬ 
tion, it is, to all intents and purposes, a fungus, and 
formerly was always regarded as such ”: but that it 
has been “ shown that, in another condition, the 
/.Ethalium is an actively locomotive creature, and 
takes in solid matter, upon which, apparently, it 


Wonders oj the Human Mind 


63 


feeds, thus exhibiting the most characteristic feature 
of animality.” * 

Now, since naturalists regard its locomotion and 
feeding, in the last-mentioned condition, as of such 
a nature as affords conclusive proof of volition and 
intelligent purpose, can we assert, beyond a doubt, 
that, in the first-mentioned condition, or in its fungal 
state, it has no germ of intelligence, — or is inferior, 
in this respect, to an unborn living creature? It 
may be remarked that scientific investigators often 
have been troubled to determine, as respects certain 
low forms of life, whether they belong to the vege¬ 
table kingdom or to the animal, — and alternately 
have asserted the one and then the other. 

A distinguished writer on natural history, Prof. 
Asa Gray, many years ago, remarked, in respect to 
the endowment of plants with life, that the distinc¬ 
tion between plants and the lower animals ... is 
“ one of degree rather than of kind ”: that “ many 
species of the higher grades (of plants) exhibit certain 
vivid motions, either spontaneous or in consequence 
of extraneous irritation; while the lowest tribes of 
aquatic plants, as they diminish in size and in com¬ 
plexity of organization, habitually execute, at some 
period at least, varied spontaneous movements 
which we are unable to distinguish in character from 
those of the lowest animals”: that “it is at their 
lowest confines, accordingly, that the vegetable and 

* Huxley, on the physical basis of life, — “Lay Sermons,” 
etc., American edition, pp. 120-146. 



64 


Variety Papers 


animal world approach or meet, and even seem to 
blend their characters”: that “probably life is 
essentially the same in the two kingdoms.” * 

Recalling again the evidence, already submitted, 
that the mind acts involuntarily to no little extent as a 
jormative principle or determining force in the develop¬ 
ment of the body — by virtue of its merely intellectual 
or emotional states, — and that this is the case in the 
very incipiency of the body — the determining force pro¬ 
ceeding from the mind of the mother or possibly from 
the inchoate mind of the unborn child or from both, — 
it may be asked furthermore: If we assume, in 
accordance with the claims of spiritual teachers, that 
the soul — or such part of our being as comprises the 
intellectual, emotional and volitional faculties — will 
survive the earthly body and attain to a higher state, 
in which it will be more richly endowed, have we no 
ground whatever for deeming it likely — or, at least, 
possible — that, in obedience to a law originally im¬ 
planted in the constitution of man, it may be, in its 
glorified condition, the divinely appointed agent for 
clothing itself with a nobler body, bearing a likeness 
to the earthly, and being, as occasion may require, 
not less substantial, but grander in its attributes and 
suited to loftier spiritual needs, yet a body to which, 
under conditions voluntarily induced by the in¬ 
dwelling intelligence, mere physical barriers will 
present no obstacle (being even less obstructive than 
an ordinary transparent medium — such as glass, for 


♦Gray’s “ Structural and Systematic Botany,” pp. 340-350. 




Wonders of the Human Mind 


65 


instance is to light or heat) and which voluntarily 
may be rendered perceptible or imperceptible to nat¬ 
ural sight and touch? To this question, science can 
afford but a qualified answer. It may be observed 
however, that late researches in physico-psychology, 
in which many persons distinguished in the learned 
world have been concerned, present an impressive 
array of apparently well-authenticated facts showing 
that such a question — however speculative it may 
seem — is not altogether absurd; and that such a 
state of things is, by no means, beyond scientific 
possibility. 

There are many theologians, it is well known, who 
maintain, as a matter of divine revelation, the doc¬ 
trine of the resurrection of the body,— who also con¬ 
tend that it will possess, in its resurrected state, 
higher capabilities, suiting it to more exalted spiritual 
wants, and thus rendering appropriate its designation 
as a spiritual body; that, so endowed, it will be 
like the body in which Christ is believed to have 
manifested himself after his disappearance from the 
tomb: in other words, that it will present a likeness 
to the former natural body; may be seen, handled 
and felt; may move in a natural way; may be guided 
apparently by earthly senses; may breathe, talk and 
partake of food (not necessarily as a requisite suste¬ 
nance) ; yet may be unrestrained by physical barriers, 
may supernaturally appear and disappear, and will 
not be subject to death or decay. In support of these 
views, they cite numerous passages of Scripture, in¬ 
cluding the following: I Cor. xv, 1-55; Jn. ii, 19-22, 


66 


Variety Papers 


— v, 25-29,— x, 17-18,— xx, 1-29, — xxi, 1-13; 
Lk. xxiv, 1-43; Mat. xxviii, 1-10; Acts ii, 22-32; 
Phil, iii, 10-11, 20-21. 

Having thus far considered chiefly the involuntary 
influence of the mind over the body, and observed to 
how great an extent it acts as a formative principle, 
let us now turn our attention to its operations more 
particularly under the guidance of the will. 

The human will, regarded in certain aspects, is the 
highest of the mental faculties. It calls others into 
exercise, diverts them from previous lines of thought, 
directs their course, — restrains the desire for imme¬ 
diate action, until reason and judgment have per¬ 
formed their tasks, — and finally issues its mandates, 
through appropriate nerves, to the members subject 
to its control. It is the executive of the brain, the 
helmsman in the voyage of life. Yet its authority 
does not extend to all the functions of the body; 
and, in respect to some which are largely submissive 
to volition, its power is limited. The beating of the 
heart is beyond its control; and the process of breath¬ 
ing, although subject to its regulation, cannot be long 
suspended by its dictates. 

During the last half century, scientists have called 
attention especially to the fact that many move¬ 
ments of the body, apparently under the direction of 
the will, are accomplished automatically, or by reflex 
action. 

As to what is meant by reflex action, both in man 
and in the lower animals, allow me — for the con- 


Wonders of the Human Mind 67 

venience of those who have never studied the subject 
— to call attention to the structure of the nervous 
system of a centipede, as illustrated by a diagram 
copied from one in Carpenter’s “ Mental Physiology ” 
(page 51) and herewith shown, — and to present a 
condensed statement of Dr. Carpenter’s explanation. 

The white part of the diagram, except 
in the head of the creature, shows what 
is called the ventral cord. This cord, 
which runs along the lower part of the 
body, beneath the alimentary canal, con¬ 
sists of successive pairs of nerve-trunks, 
united at points opposite the legs by what 
are called ganglia. From these ganglia, 
two nerve-trunks on each side radiate 
laterally; and, from the ganglia in the 
neck, two nerve-trunks also extend to 
ganglia in the head, called the cephalic 
ganglia. The ganglia in the body serve 
partly as a means of connection for the 
nerve-trunks. 

Through these nerve-trunks, there is 
transmitted, along certain interior fibers, 
to the ganglia of the head, the peculiar 
nervous influence which produces sensation. In re¬ 
sponse to this influence, and often — it is believed — 
irrespective of any volitional prompting, there is sent 
back, through the same nerve-trunks, but along other 
fibers, a reflex nervous influence, which produces 
motion. This process resulting in motion, as prompted 



68 


Variety Papers 


by the development of a returning nervous current, 
irrespective of volition, is termed reflex action. 

The cephalic ganglia of the centipede correspond 
to the sensorium at the base of the human brain, in 
which the nerves of sight, hearing, smell, etc., ter¬ 
minate, — and, with the aid of which, sense-percep¬ 
tions are effected. They are undoubtedly the seat of 
consciousness. They appear also to perform in some 
measure the same function as the cerebellum, or 
smaller part of the human brain, in regulating and 
coordinating or harmonizing the muscular movements 
of the creature — as, for instance, those of the legs in 
crawling and turning from side to side. But each of 
the ganglia of the ventral cord also ministers to the 
reflex action of its own segment of the cord, — and 
likewise, in some measure, to those of other segments. 
It appears, therefore, that it is not needful that the 
nervous current, originated by disturbing any part of 
the body, should extend to the head, or recognized 
seat of consciousness, in order to develop such a return 
current as will induce motion; for, as soon as it 
reaches any of the ganglia of the ventral cord, a cur¬ 
rent productive of reflex action forthwith sets in. 

Dr. Carpenter says*: — “If the head of a 
centipede be cut off whilst it is in motion, the 
body will continue to move onwards by the action 
of its legs; and the same will take place in the 
separate parts, if the body be divided into several 


* Carpenter’s “ Mental Physiology /' §54. 




Wonders of the Human Mind 


69 


distinct portions. After these actions have come 
to an end, they may be excited again by irritating 
any part of the nerve-centers, or the cut extrem¬ 
ity of the nervous cord. The body is moved 
forwards by the regular and successive action of 
the legs, as in the natural state; but its move¬ 
ments are always forwards, never backwards, and 
are only directed to one side when the forward 
movement is checked by an interposed obstacle. 
Hence, although they might seem to indicate 
Consciousness and a guiding Will, they do not 
do so in reality; for they are performed as it 
were ‘ mechanically ’; and show no direction or 
object, no avoidance of danger. If the body be 
opposed in its progress by an obstacle of not more 
than half of its own height, it mounts over it and 
moves directly onward, as in its natural state; 
but, if the obstacle be equal to its own height, its 
progress is arrested, and the cut extremity of 
the body remains forced up against the opposing 
substance, the legs still continuing to move. If, 
again, the ventral cord of a centipede be divided 
in the middle of the trunk, so that the hinder 
legs are cut off from connection with the cephalic 
ganglia, they will continue to move, but not in 
harmony with those of the fore part of the body; 
being completely paralyzed, as far as the animal’s 
controlling power is concerned, though still capa¬ 
ble of performing reflex movements by the in¬ 
fluence of their own ganglia, which may thus con- 


70 


Variety Papers 


tinue to propel the body in opposition to the 
determinations of the animal itself. The case 
is still more remarkable when the ventral cord 
is not merely divided, but a portion of it is en¬ 
tirely removed from the middle of the trunk: 
for the anterior legs still remain obedient to the 
animal’s control; the legs of the segments from 
which the nervous cord has been removed are 
altogether motionless; whilst those of the pos¬ 
terior segments continue to act, through the 
reflex powers of their own ganglia, in a manner 
which shows that the animal has no power of 
checking or directing them.” 

These facts, as set forth by Dr. Carpenter, re¬ 
specting the centipede, strikingly illustrate the nature 
of reflex action; and show that movements which 
appear to be prompted by an intelligent will may be 
quite independent of consciousness, as it is com¬ 
monly understood, — or, in other words, may be 
purely automatic. 

Similar facts are observed respecting man. The 
process of swallowing, for instance, although appar¬ 
ently prompted solely by the will, is found to be 
chiefly the result of reflex action. What the will does 
is merely to incite a movement of the tongue, by 
which the substance to be swallowed is carried back 
so as to bring it in contact with the lining membrane 
of the pharynx. This contact causes the muscles of 
the pharynx to close around the substance auto- 


Wonders of the Human Mind 


71 


matically, so as to carry it down into the gullet. In 
tickling the rear wall of the mouth with a feather, to 
induce vomiting, it has occasionally happened that 
the feather, being pushed too far, has been seized by 
the muscles of the pharynx and drawn from the 
fingers. 

The process of sucking, in case of the infant, also 
affords an example of reflex action. 

The movement of the human legs, in walking, 
doubtless is largely automatic. It is begun under 
the direction of the will; but is carried on apparently 
without such direction, except so far as is needful in 
varying the course or changing the length of the steps. 
Every one who has tried walking upon the sleepers of 
a railroad track, which are at unequal distances apart, 
knows the difficulty involved, from the necessity of 
careful observation of the requisite length of the 
step and of the constant regulation of such length 
by the will; and knows also how tiresome is such 
expeiience. 

In cases of personal accident, causing injury to the 
spinal cord, it often happens that there is a paralysis 
of the lower extremities. But, even when there is a 
complete severance of the cord, if the lower part 
remains sound, and its connections with the legs, un¬ 
impaired, distinct reflex movements of the legs can 
be excited by a stimulus directly applied to them; 
and this has occurred without the patient feeling the 
stimulus or knowing of the motion. In a case of this 
kind, where the patient w T as asked whether he felt 


72 


Variety Payers 


the irritation by which the motions were excited, he 
replied, as he looked at his limbs and observed their 
movements: “ No, sir; but you see my legs do.” 
Various experiments, tried in similar cases, demon¬ 
strate the fact that the motions of the lower limbs of 
the human being are, in many instances, as much the 
result of reflex action as the continuous motions of the 
legs of the centipede, the head of which has been cut 
off while the creature is in the act of crawling. 

Nearly all the internal processes of the body, 
such as digestion, glandular secretion and excretion, 
circulation of the blood, etc., are carried on by 
reflex action. In view of the great extent of such 
action, a few investigators and radical thinkers have 
inferred that even the promptings of our liighest 
intelligence are the results of reflex action; and that 
man, on the whole, must be deemed a mere automaton. 

A bold expression of this doctrine is found in a 
book, entitled “ Letters on the Laws of Man’s Nature 
and Development,” by Henry G. Atkinson and Har¬ 
riet Martineau, — in which the writer remarks: — 
“ Instinct, passion, thought, etc., are effects of or¬ 
ganized substances.” . . . “ All causes are material 
causes.” ... a In material conditions, I find the 
origin of all religions, all philosophies, all opinions, 
all virtues, all ‘ spiritual conditions and influences/ 
in the same manner that I find the origin of all dis¬ 
eases and of all insanities, in material conditions and 
causes.” . . . “ I am what I am, a creature of neces¬ 
sity; I claim neither merit nor demerit.” . . .“I feel 


Wonders oj the Human Mind 


73 


that I am as completely the result of my nature, and 
impelled to do what I do, as the needle to point to the 
north, or the puppet to move according as the string 
is pulled/’ . . . “ I cannot alter my will, or be other 
than what I am, and cannot deserve either reward or 
punishment.” 

Similar views have been expressed by other promi¬ 
nent writers. 

In reply to such assumptions, it may be said: — 
(1) They are in direct antagonism to the fundamental 
convictions of every sane man that he really possesses 
a self-determining power which can rise above the 
promptings of circumstances, and that, instead of 
being ruled by them, he can shape them in good part 
to his own purposes. (2) He has even stronger evi¬ 
dence of the existence of this self-determining power 
within him, than he has of the existence of a material 
world without; since the will, itself, is a subject of 
internal consciousness — direct and immediate, — 
and not of perception through the organs of sense, 
which are in themselves, material. But a full discus¬ 
sion of the question, in a metaphysical way, is im¬ 
practicable in the present paper. 

I pass, therefore, to the consideration of the won¬ 
derful celerity of mental processes, under the guid¬ 
ance of the will, as they occur above the plane of 
automatism. 

Mental processes often outrun the laggard pace of 
recording memory, so that little trace is preserved of 
the successive steps. 


74 


Variety Papers 


A striking illustration of this has been afforded in 
the quickness of some mathematicians, who could 
solve the longest and most intricate problems with 
lightning-like rapidity, but could tell nothing of the 
methods of solution. Such was the case with Zerah 
Colburn, who, from about 1810 to 1818, was exhibited 
in America and Europe as a mathematical prodigy. 

The same was true of Truman H. Safford, who at 
one time was connected with the Nautical Almanac 
Office or Observatory at Cambridge, Mass., — and 
afterwards was a professor in Williams College. One 
of his associates at the Nautical Almanac Office told 
me that Safford often accomplished the most difficult 
astronomical calculations in two or three minutes 
and with infallible correctness; but that his mind 
was so quickly fatigued that, on the whole, he was 
able to do but little more than others, who wrote out 
their calculations. 

About 1847 or 1848, an idiotic boy who evinced 
similar capability was exhibited in various parts of 
New England. He was advertised as the “ Mathe¬ 
matical Fool” — his mind being so abnormally de¬ 
veloped that it was as weak on other sides as it was 
strong on the mathematical. 

But it is not merely in cases of abnormal develop¬ 
ment or of unusual genius that great mental quickness 
is shown. It is daily manifest under our observation 
and — as may appear upon reflection — in our own 
personal experiences. An illustration of this may be 
found in the readiness of the accomplished pianist, 


Wonders of the Human Mind 


75 


in performing a piece of rapid music which he has 
never before heard or seen. His fingers move with 
such swiftness that they seem guided by intuition. 
The reading of the music and directing of the touch 
outstrips the process of chronicling memory; yet he 
observes and renders, with correctness, every rela¬ 
tion of time, pitch and expression, however complex 
the harmony or peculiar the sentiment. Even the 
fire of the composer seems to run in his veins, and 
flash forth at his fingers’ tips. Yet his action appears 
spontaneous. All this, however, is done under the 
direction of the will. 

In ordinary reading, there is an observance of each 
letter, but no recollection of such observance as a 
distinctive act. Yet, if a needful letter is omitted, 
the lack is usually perceived at once. If the reader 
has been trained to the stage, and expresses the sen¬ 
timent of what he reads, with appropriate voice and 
action, — analyzing each subtle emotion, and giving 
to it a living reality, — what a whirl of commingled 
thoughts, what a series of animate and inanimate 
pictures runs through his brain, beyond all power to 
hold in subsequent remembrance. Even the process 
of vocalization requires the most wonderful activity 
of thought and delicacy of perception. The myriad 
muscles of the lips, the tongue, the larynx, the thorax, 
the diaphragm, etc., all, move in harmony and in per¬ 
fect obedience to the will for the production of the 
sounds; and who can tell with what wonderful play 
or with what infinite variety of expression? 


76 


Variety Papers 


I am well aware, it is contended by many writers, 
not materialists, that by far the greater part of this 
is automatic — the celerity and want of recollection 
of the successive steps being deemed evidence of 
reflex action not under the guidance of the will. But 
a comparison of facts which have come under my 
observation has led me to a different conclusion. 

Among the reasons for deeming these processes 
only to a small extent automatic are the following: — 
The elements which they include are the result, in 
many instances, of considerate mental action; and 
are skillfully coordinated, arranged and harmonized. 
There is a selection of these elements; and this selec¬ 
tion requires the careful consideration and rejection 
of other elements, as well as the preference of those 
which are employed. 

To illustrate, let us refer again to reading or recita¬ 
tion upon the stage. For effectiveness in such a per¬ 
formance, there must be, first, a perception and 
appreciation of the thought and feeling to be ex¬ 
pressed; secondly, a consideration and determination 
of what is the best method of expressing it with the 
voice — that is, with reference to pitch, volume, 
quality, inflection, rate of movement, rhetorical 
pauses, etc.; thirdly, a consideration of what is the 
best method of expressing it in action — that is, by 
attitude, gesture, bodily movement, and facial ex¬ 
pression; and, fourthly, there must be observance of 
the audience, so as to determine whether the methods 
employed are producing the desired effect, and, if not, 


Wonders of the Human Mind 77 

what changes are needful, — also for the purpose of 
drawing inspiration from the audience, which, as 
every accomplished reader or actor well knows, is 
often exceedingly helpful. All these acts, it is plain, 
require intelligent perception, reasoning, judgment 
and will. From their very nature, they cannot be, 
to any great extent, automatic. To bring the results 
together and adjust and harmonize them so as to 
make an agreeable whole requires the exercise of 
man’s highest powers, and is as far above automa¬ 
tism as the heavens are high above the earth. 

It may be admitted, however, that the process is 
less complex, or extends in fewer instances to funda¬ 
mental details, than it would be, if the reader or 
speaker were untrained as an elocutionist or an 
actor, or were unfamiliar with the piece and its ren¬ 
dering. Undoubtedly the conclusions reached by 
him, in former instances, as to what, under certain 
conditions, is desirable in respect to this or that, are 
extremely helpful, — and, being applied in the pres¬ 
ent instance to conditions partly the same or closely 
analogous, shorten the process, and enable him more 
easily and successfully to reach the desired result. 
Yet, while it hardly can be denied that some of his 
steps are but little else than automatic, it seems un¬ 
mistakable that, on the whole, his process of percep¬ 
tion, reasoning, discrimination, judgment and will, 
notwithstanding its swiftness, is so intricate as utterly 
to defy analysis and to baffle all attempts at intelligent 
description. 


78 


Variety Papers 


But it may be asked, if the acts are really per¬ 
formed in the manner specified, why have we no 
clearer recollection of them? I answer: — It is mani¬ 
fest from our daily experience that the human mind is 
so constituted that but few of its thoughts, except in 
their final results, can be retained in our ordinary 
consciousness. 

Were all the thoughts of a life treasured up in 
the present memory, how cumbrous would be the 
store, and how few useful grains would be found in 
the mountain of chaff! 

We see a new landscape, as we journey in a car; 
and are pleased with its features: but how little can 
we tell of it, an hour afterwards! Yet enough may 
be impressed upon our fleeting memory to enable us, 
even a year later, on seeing a picture of it, at once to 
recognize the view. 

Certain streets in a large city are familiar to us. 
We have observed repeatedly the buildings fronting 
on them; but how few can we describe or tell much 
about! Y^t, in some manner, there is hidden away 
in our minds such a delineation of them, in connec¬ 
tion with their location, as to enable us to tell, from 
a faint glimpse of any small group of these buildings, 
even in the shadows of evening or in a fog, precisely 
where we are. 

From facts like these, it appears that there are 
graven upon the hidden tablets of the memory such 
records of what we perceive and think as may prove 
useful to us when circumstances call for, and asso- 


Wonders of the Human Mind 


79 


ciation leads to, their recollection. But it is certain 
that only a small share of all our thoughts remains 
available under ordinary conditions, or while we are 
in a normal state. Yet, strange to say, traces of even 
careless observation somehow linger in the archives 
of the memory, and become available under abnormal 
conditions. 

Some years ago, I knew a lady who, while suffering 
with delirium, recognized the footfalls of any of her 
friends who approached the house, and told at once, 
with infallible correctness, who was coming; al¬ 
though, when in her normal state, she could not 
recognize such footfalls, and had no remembrance 
of ever heeding them. 

Coleridge, in his Biographia Literaria, tells of a 
well-authenticated case — often cited of late years in 
works on psychology — of a young woman who could 
neither read nor write, but who, when her mind was 
unsettled by a nervous fever, repeated long passages 
in Greek, Latin and Hebrew, with much facility. It 
was found that, some years before, she had lived in 
the family of a clergyman, a learned man, who read 
aloud in foreign tongues, from ancient authors, as he 
promenaded up and down a way opposite the kitchen 
where she was employed. The passages she repeated 
proved to be those she had heard read. But, when in 
health, she had no recollection of them. 

Such facts show that, notwithstanding our inability 
to recall the numberless steps incident to our processes 
of thought, especially when they are of great celerity, 


80 


Variety Papers 


we are by no means warranted in concluding that 
they do not occur. In the cases of the mathemati¬ 
cians, before mentioned, convincing proof that such 
steps were taken is afforded by their results in the 
correct solution of the problems; since no discovery 
was claimed of new methods by which the processes 
were materially shortened, and both Colburn and 
Safford unhesitatingly recognized the excellence of 
the old and familiar methods. 

I have referred to the marvelous swiftness of 
thought in playing upon the organs of speech. We 
have little doubt that, in writing, all the motions of 
the hand and arm are under intelligent guidance, and 
that each muscle moves mainly as directed by the 
will, — being persuaded of this, partly because we 
see certain of the movements. But the more intricate 
movements of the muscles of the organs of speech are 
not seen; and, therefore, although each is accom¬ 
plished at the bidding of the will, the process seems 
purely automatic. Evidently these movements are 
not instinctive, like those, to some extent, of the 
hands and arms in infants: for the modes of speech 
must be learned; they are not mere gifts. 

The working of the mind, in its abnormal condi¬ 
tions, often reveals to us something of its higher 
capabilities. This is true in somnambulism, which, 
for many years, has been the subject of careful obser¬ 
vation by physicians. 

Some time ago, I knew a young lady who was a 
graduate in the collegiate department of Rutgers 


Wonders of (he Human Mind 81 

Institute in New York City. During the latter part 
of her college course, she rose from her bed, one 
night, and translated with accuracy several pages of 
Sophocles, when in a somnambulic state, — turning 
to her lexicon for the meaning of a few unfamiliar 
words, and writing out the translation, in the midst 
of such darkness that her roommate was barely able 
to discern her movements. Not unlikely she was 
aided by an exalted sense of sight, resulting from 
nervous excitement induced by overwork and a 
slight illness. 

There are many well authenticated cases of appar¬ 
ent vision, during somnambulism, when the eyes 
were closed or a screen was placed between them and 
the object which engaged their attention. Some of 
these may be explained by an exalted muscular sense, 
which — being attended with an exact recollection of 
the direction and extent of previous volitional move¬ 
ments — perhaps enabled the person to perceive, 
through the guidance of feeling, what he could not see. 

Thus a young ecclesiastic repeatedly wrote ser¬ 
mons, in the dark, while in a somnambulic state: 
and occasionally he went back and corrected his 
manuscript; although a card was placed beneath his 
chin, so it was impossible for him to see where he was 
writing. The corrections, however, were made in the 
proper place. But when, during a pause in the writ¬ 
ing, a sheet of paper like the one he had been using 
was substituted for the latter, he did not perceive the 
change, and marked his corrections on the blank 


82 


Variety Papers 


sheet in places exactly corresponding to those, where 
they were intended to be marked on the previously 
written sheet. On completing each page, he read it 
over aloud. It is not unlikely the words were seen 
only in imagination, and were repeated from memory, 
which was quickened by his peculiar nervous state. 
The exalted muscular sense, by which, it is presumed, 
he was enabled to mark the corrections, may have 
been of the same nature as that which — as a result 
of long training—guides the hands of skillful artisans 
in many of their processes or which directs the touch 
of musicians in playing various instruments — as the 
harp, piano and trombone, — also the same as that 
which guides the somnambulist or the rope-dancer in 
walking in dangerous places and preserving his 
balance. 

The activity of the guiding senses of the somnam¬ 
bulist probably is enhanced, to some extent, by the 
fact that other senses are sleeping or inactive. In a 
case of somnambulism observed by Dr. Hammond, 
of New York,* the patient — a young lady — was 
insensible to the noise of two books struck together 
close to her ears, to the touches of a pencil upon her 
open eyes, to the fumes of a burning sulphur match 
and of smelling salts beneath her nose, and, tempo¬ 
rarily, to lemon juice and a solution of quinine, placed 
in her mouth. “ Scratching the back of her hand 
with a pin, pulling her hair, and pinching her face 
appeared to excite no sensation.” Yet, “ when the 


* Hammond’s “ Sleep and its Derangements,” pp. 207-209. 



Wonders of the Human Mind 


soles of her feet were tickled, she drew them away, 
thus showing that the spinal cord was awake.’ 7 It is 
probable, therefore, that her actions were largely 
directed by the promptings of the spinal cord. 

Dr. Hammond, who was formerly Surgeon-General 
of the United States, and is well known as a dis¬ 
tinguished authority on nervous diseases, says: — 

“ Much observation and many experiments have 
convinced me that the importance of the spinal cord as 
a center of intellection and volition has been unwar¬ 
rantably igriored. It is of course not a matter for 
doubt that the faculty of consciousness is latent in 
the spinal cord so long as the brain is in a state of 
activity, and that the faculty of memory does not 
reside in it at all. When the brain acts, it ordinarily 
assumes the control of the cord; but there are times, 
especially during the course of certain diseases, when 
the latter obtains the mastery over the superior 
organ and dominates with terrible power.” 

If these views of Dr. Hammond are correct, it is 
evident that some movements which originate in 
promptings from the spinal cord, rather than from 
the brain, are not merely ’automatic; since they 
are, to a certain extent, under the guidance of the will. 

In mesmeric, hypnotic, and clairvoyant conditions 
of the mind, its most extraordinary manifestations 
are witnessed. I shall attempt but a slight discussion 
of these phenomena; and shall mention only a few 
facts concerning them, such as, I presume, will be 
generally conceded. 


84 


Variety Papers 


During the latter half of the eighteenth century 
public attention was pretty generally drawn to mes¬ 
merism, or to what is now commonly called hyp¬ 
notism, — and again, to a greater extent, about the 
middle of the nineteenth century. Since then, its 
phenomena have been extensively investigated, and 
have been largely recognized in the scientific world. 
In many of the continental European countries, the 
belief in hypnotism has become so general that laws 
have been enacted forbidding its practice, except 
under the direction of capable physicians. Probably 
but few candid persons will deny that certain indi¬ 
viduals possess what is called mesmeric or hypnotic 
power — that is, are able to establish abnormal sym¬ 
pathetic relations with others of a susceptible tem¬ 
perament, and to gain a peculiar ascendency over 
them. In some instances, the operator exercises this 
power, in a measure, over the movements of the sub¬ 
ject, so as to cause such acts as the operator wills. 
In others, he so works upon the mind of the subject 
as to render certain senses inoperative or to impart 
to them a sympathetic susceptibility — making the 
subject capable, for instance, of tasting, smelling, or 
feeling, wdiat is tasted, smelt, or felt, by another 
person at a distance. In still others, he appears to 
render the subject clairvoyant, or mentally capable 
of seeing objects beyond ocular vision and observing 
events which relate to them. Undoubtedly, in some 
of these cases, the subject may be aided by slight 
indications or suggestions from the operator, such as, 


Wonders of the Human Mind 


85 


in the normal state, would be of little or no avail. 
In other cases, there appears to be transferred to the 
mind of the subject such knowledge of the matter as 
is possessed by some other person or persons at a dis¬ 
tance, with whom the subject seems to be in sym¬ 
pathetic communication, — yet without any means, 
appreciable to the senses, of gaining such information. 
In a considerable number of cases, however, the sub¬ 
ject appears to be fully capable, by his or her unaided 
faculties, of discerning what is beyond the reach of 
the senses and, so far as can be learned, is absolutely 
unknown to any other human being. 

But there has been so much imposture in the pro¬ 
fessed exercise of mesmeric power that the public 
generally have been skeptical about it; and individu¬ 
als have ceased to doubt, only as they have learned of 
its manifestations by those in whose honesty they 
had implicit faith, and as the manifestations and 
their results have been tested and apparently proved 
by rigorous scientific methods. 

The investigations of the Society for Psychical 
Research — which includes many distinguished men 
both in Europe and America, and at the head of 
which, for some time, was Dr. Henry Sidgwick, Pro¬ 
fessor of Moral Philosophy in Cambridge University, 
England * — have done much to eliminate from the 

* Among others who have been president of the Society are 
Prof. Balfour Stewart, F.R.S.; Rt. Hon. A. J. Balfour, M.P., 
F.R.S. (prime minister of the British Empire, after July, 1902); 
Sir Wm. Crookes, F.R.S. (inventor of the Crookes Tube); and 
Prof. Wm. James of Harvard University. 



86 


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lists of such cases those which were clearly open to 
suspicion, and to establish upon a stronger foundation 
those which appear to be trustworthy. Of the work 
of this society, Mr. Gladstone remarked: “ It is the 
most important which is being done in the world, by 
far the most important.’' 

An illustrative case of what may be deemed clair¬ 
voyance, which seems to be fairly proved, is related 
in the appendix to Wayland’s Intellectual Philosophy. 
It is that of a colored man on the United States 
Steamer Princeton, who was repeatedly mesmerized, 
in the year 1874, by J. M. Brooke, a well-known 
reputable officer in the navy. While in the mesmeric 
state, the subject told correctly of incidents occurring 
at a distance on shore, related conversations connected 
with them, and described even the contents of men’s 
pockets. 

Richard Hodgson, LL.D., the secretary of the 
American Branch of the Society for Psychical Re¬ 
search, placed in my hands some time ago a little book, 
entitled “ X -f- Y — Z, or the Sleeping Preacher,” 
giving an accoimt of abnormal powers, shown in a 
sleeping or trance state akin to the hypnotic, by Rev. 
C. B. Sanders, a Presbyterian minister of good stand¬ 
ing in the Southern states. The genuineness of these 
manifestations is vouched for by nearly eighty persons, 
whose names and residences are given in the book. 
The list of witnesses includes seven physicians and 
ten clergymen of various denominations, some of high 
repute. In answer to an inquiry of Dr. Hodgson 


Wonders of ike Human Mind 


87 


whether he had corresponded with any of these 
witnesses — the names of several of whom, I noticed, 
had a pencil check-mark before them — he addressed 
to me this letter: 

Boston, Mass., April 5, 1893. 

Dear Mr. Morgan: 

The names marked in the copy which you have of 
X + Y = Z are those with whom I have had special corre¬ 
spondence concerning the case; the other names in the list 
have all been written to and replies received from most of 
them. We have letters also from other people of prominence 
who testify to the accuracy of the statements contained in 
the book. I think there is no doubt as to the absolute in¬ 
tegrity of the several witnesses. 

Mr. Sanders is now in Texas. 

Yours sincerely. 

R. HODGSON. 

Concerning the esteem in which Rev. Mr. Sanders 
was held, it was said that his standing as a member of 
his Presbytery had been maintained without blot or 
reproach, and that he had shared all, even the highest, 
honors in the gift of the Presbytery. 

When he was in a trance state, into which Mr. 
Sanders seems often to have passed unawares and 
irrespective of any outward influence, it is reported 
that not infrequently he saw objects and heard con¬ 
versations in places toward which his attention was 
turned, far beyond the normal reach of his senses, 
that on some occasions he showed a good under¬ 
standing of languages he had never learned, and that 
sometimes he wrote in such languages. It is said 


88 


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also that, while in the trance state his conversations 
and religious discourses often were remarkable, and 
that he wrote a good number of volumes which have 
been published and considerably circulated, some of 
them treating successfully of matters about which, 
when in his usual condition, he had little knowledge. 

Among other striking facts, told of Mr. Sanders, 
is, that, many times, while in his abnormal state, he 
discovered lost articles, quite hidden from his natural 
view and far beyond the range of his normal percep¬ 
tions, of the missing of which it does not appear 
from any statement contained in the book that he 
had a previous knowledge, and as to the loss of which 
no inquiry seems ever to have been addressed to him. 
In some of these cases, he described, before their 
recovery, the exact location, position, and appearance 
of the lost articles. In none of the instances just re¬ 
ferred to, does it appear that any one else knew of the 
whereabouts of the things lost, so that Mr. Sanders 
could have been aided in his discovery, by telepathy, or 
thought-transference, working as commonly supposed. 

The records of the Society for Psychical Research 
present other cases, seemingly well authenticated, of 
clairvoyant vision similar to Mr. Sanders’, in which it 
does not appear that the observers could have been 
aided in the least by telepathy. To what extent the 
investigations of the Society or its members may be 
regarded as absolutely confirmatory, in these cases, 
time alone probably will tell. 

Of the power of one mind over another, which 


Wonders 0} the Human Mind 


89 


apparently may be exercised in an abnormal way, 
permit me to mention a single instance. 

Some years ago, an article appeared in one of our 
leading magazines, containing an account, written 
by an officer of the United States Army, of a trial of 
powers between two Indian medicine-men. Each 
was widely famed. They met in answer to a challenge, 
and sat down, face to face, in the midst of a circle of 
assembled warriors. Each remained for some mo¬ 
ments, with his gaze riveted upon the other. Sud¬ 
denly the elder, straightening his form and waving 
his hand with an authoritative gesture, commanded 
the other to die. His antagonist fell over, and in a 
few moments expired. I do not know how far this 
seemingly incredible story may be vouched for; but, 
if true, it certainly presents a most remarkable in¬ 
stance of the supremacy of one mind over another, 
extending even to its vital relations with the body. 

It may be observed, however, that death sometimes 
follows extreme fright and is believed to be caused by 
it; and, therefore, as fear often is greatly increased 
by superstitious dread of the exercise of some occult 
power, the above-mentioned fatal incident may not 
be deemed wholly improbable, especially if it be ad¬ 
mitted, as likely, that a strong hypnotic influence was 
exerted by the victor in the contest. Yet it is scarcely 
presumable that an Indian medicine-man who had 
gained much influence with his tribe would be easily 
overcome through fear. 

In conclusion, I call attention to the fact that, 


90 


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unless we reject a mass of evidence respecting hypno¬ 
tism, telepathy and clairvoyance, which seems pe¬ 
culiarly difficult to controvert, we must admit that 
the mind or soul sometimes appears to be operative 
beyond the body — occasionally at very remote dis¬ 
tances, or far outside the range of perception with the 
senses — and that it shows, not only an almost in¬ 
credible discernment, but a power, of which, under 
normal conditions, it is utterly incapable. And, if 
we accept such evidence as conclusive, may we not 
regard it as forming an important link in the chain of 
testimony that the soul is not wholly dependent upon 
the body ; that it may become lastingly operative 
beyond its usual abode; that it will survive the body; 
and that, when released from its tenement of clay, it 
will rise to a higher state of being: moreover, is it too 
much to believe, that, in the providence of God, this 
link may have been supplied at an opportune moment 
when the foundations of religious faith are so ruth¬ 
lessly assailed by materialistic philosophy? Let the 
future answer! 


IV 


THE WORLD OF INVENTION 

The march of civilization is the march of invention. 

Since man was driven from Paradise, he has sought 
to recompense himself for its lost joys and to escape 
the curse pronounced upon him — “ In the sweat of 
thy face shalt thou eat bread ” — by multiplying 
inventions which will minister to his gratification or 
relieve him from burdensome toil. His clothing, his 
shelter, his household conveniences, even the book 
which improves his mind or points out to him the 
way of eternal life, all, bespeak invention. 

Were the natural world our only possession, our 
condition would be but little above that of the brute. 
Take away every invention of the human mind, and 
we should again stand naked before our Maker, 
limited to such lands only as are favored by tropical 
warmth, the seas impassable before us; we should 
dwell in caves and dens of the earth; should be com¬ 
pelled to subsist on spontaneous fruits; and should 
have no knowledge of the past but from slender tra¬ 
ditions, and no light for the future except from di¬ 
vinely implanted intelligence. Our struggle with 
Nature would begin anew, the beast of prey would be 
our continual adversary, and we could hardly claim 
supremacy over the horse or ox. 

Truly the world of civilization is a world of inven¬ 
tions. 

n 


92 


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The ancients recognized this, even in their religions. 
In the Greek and Roman mythologies, Athena (or 
Minerva) — believed to have been born from the head 
of Zeus (or Jupiter), the supreme deity — was wor¬ 
shiped as the goddess of the arts — herself, a pro¬ 
lific inventress. The plow, the chariot, the sailing 
vessel, various instruments of martial music, fabrics 
of spinning and weaving — in fact, nearly all the 
early products of feminine art — besides a multitude 
of other ingenious devices, were attributed to the 
wonder-working goddess. Lavish in her bounties and 
ever mindful of the public weal, she was adored as the 
preserver of the state and of all which gives to it 
strength and prosperity. In the plenitude of her 
power as its defender, she was worshiped also as the 
goddess of war. As the representative divinity of 
wisdom, typified by the immeasurable excellence of 
her gifts to man, she was regarded as sitting at the 
right hand of Jupiter and supporting him with her 
counsels. 

Similar faiths were entertained respecting other 
divinities. Hephaestus (or Vulcan) was worshiped as 
the celestial artificer, the contriver of an infinite 
variety of useful and beautiful works, the architect 
of the heavenly abodes, the fashioner of Jove’s 
thunderbolts, as the god of fire (the most potent 
agent known to the ancients for transforming material 
substances) and as the instructor of men in the 
ornamental arts. 

Hermes (or Mercury) also was honored as a divine 


The World of Invention 


93 


inventor. The alphabet, the expression of numbers, 
weights and measures, the arrangement of sounds in 
melody, the harp in its pristine form — consisting of 
cords stretched across the concave shell of a tortoise — 
the syrinx, or Pandean pipes, and many other highly 
esteemed and curious inventions were believed to 
have been the gifts of this cunning deity. 

Thus it was a deeply rooted faith of the ancients 
that even the gods delighted in inventions, and im¬ 
parted them to mortals as their choicest boons. 

Traces of this superstition lingered long after the 
old mythologies were swept away. Among the 
disciples of alchemy, it was believed that, before the 
flood, the secrets of their art were communicated by 
angels to divinely favored persons, but that these 
secrets perished with the Deluge or with the death of 
those who had survived in the ark. The Scripture 
record of the great age of some of the antediluvians 
as, for instance, Adam, Seth, Enos, Cainan, Jared, 
Methuselah, and Noah, all of whom, it is said, lived 
to be over nine hundred years old, gave ground for a 
supposition that, through the blessing of the Almighty, 
there may have been revealed to them some potent 
drug by which their lives were wondrously prolonged. 
Such a drug, known as the Elixir of Life, was the 
object of the most persevering search by the alchemists 
through many centuries. To this search was allied 
that for the Philosopher’s Stone, which was believed 
to have the power of transmuting the baser metals 
into gold; also the search for a mysterious recep- 


94 


Variety Payers 

tacle and fluid constituting the imaginary Eternal 
Lamp. 

It is not surprising that, secluded in their dark 
laboratories, striving to penetrate the secrets of 
Nature and find out such wonders, the alchemists 
were sometimes led to invoke the aid of spirits from 
the nether world and to indulge in the practice of for¬ 
bidden arts. Hence they repeatedly fell under the 
ban of the Church, and in some instances were put to 
death. Yet, in many cases, they secured the favor of 
sovereigns and princes who hoped to be enriched by 
their discoveries. The history of some of them — for 
instance, of Count Bernard of Treviso, and of Sir 
Raymond Lully — reads like a romance. Lully, who 
was an accomplished courtier, enjoyed the favor 
alternately of James II of Aragon and Edward II of 
England. The latter monarch, in consideration of 
Lully’s engaging, through the Abbot of Westminster, 
to supply him with gold by the exercise of his mysteri¬ 
ous art, promised to undertake a crusade for the 
recovery of the Holy Sepulchre. Rooms were assigned 
to the alchemist in the Tower of London, and there, 
according to his own story, he transmuted fifty thou¬ 
sand pounds weight of quicksilver, lead and tin into 
pure gold, which was coined at the mint into six 
million nobles — the equivalent of $90,000,000. But 
Edward II never saw fit to undertake the crusade, 
and Lully, after being detained awhile as a prisoner 
in the Tower, made his escape and fled to Jerusalem 
and subsequently to Tunis, where he was stoned by 


The World of Invention 


95 


Mohammedans, and, although rescued from their 
hands, soon afterwards died of his wounds. 

But the researches of the alchemists, notwithstand¬ 
ing their visionary purposes, resulted in many im¬ 
portant discoveries and inventions — among the 
latter, the retort, the alembic and the crucible — and 
taught the use of many serviceable processes, such as 
distillation, sublimation, filtration, and crystalliza¬ 
tion. Yet their art was commonly allied, in the public 
mind, to that of the magician and necromancer. 

As the alchemists were supposed to be assisted in 
some instances by evil spirits, so other experimenters 
and inventors who accomplished surprising results 
were presumed to be aided occasionally by the powers 
of darkness. In the thirteenth century, the inventor 
of a flying machine was held to be in league with 
Satan, and was burned alive by order of the Holy 
Inquisition. Another inventor, for making an au¬ 
tomaton writing boy, was seized by officers of the 
Inquisition and barely escaped with his life. In the 
seventeenth century, Alex of Provence, who invented 
an automaton guitar-player, was condemned for 
witchcraft, and was burned, together with his inven¬ 
tion, by order of Parliament. 

The early inventors, with few exceptions, received 
but little encouragement. There were no laws pro¬ 
tecting them in the exclusive right, for a time, to the 
fruits of their ingenuity. Hence they often sought 
protection in secrecy, and thus increased the suspicion 
of their being addicted to evil arts. This suspicion 


96 


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was intensified, in some cases, by the open accusations 
of those with whose industries, conducted according 
to old methods, their inventions interfered. The work¬ 
ing classes frequently were inflamed against them, 
through fear of privation of employment by the intro¬ 
duction of their labor-saving contrivances. This fear, 
however absurd it now seems, was shared in, some¬ 
times, by intelligent rulers, who were averse to any 
change likely to disturb their subjects and to create 
popular discontent. 

When William Lee, a poor curate in Nottingham¬ 
shire, had invented the stocking frame, in 1589, he 
brought it to London, and, having set it up in his 
lodgings, prevailed upon Queen Elizabeth to do him 
the honor of inspecting it. Her Majesty, it is reported, 
was accompanied by Lord Hunsdon, who urged her, 
of her royal pleasure, to grant a patent for the in¬ 
vention. The Queen is said to have answered: “ My 
lord, I have too much love for my poor people who 
obtain their bread by the employment of knitting to 
give my money to forward an invention that will tend 
to their ruin by depriving them of employment and 
thus make them beggars.” Lee afterwards took his 
stocking-frame to France, where he was promised the 
favor of Henry IV; but, the king being assassinated, 
the inventor was doomed to a second disappointment. 
Later, James I, of England, refused him a patent; and 
Lee, at last, sorely impoverished, fell a prey to dejec¬ 
tion and lost his life. Thus one of the most valuable 
inventions which has been given to the world failed 


The World oj Invention 


97 


to bring to its originator either a grateful recognition 
or an honorable reward. 

Not far from this time, or in 1624, the first emphatic 
assertion was made, by a general public enactment, 
of the right of an inventor to protection in the exclu¬ 
sive enjoyment of his invention for such a term of 
years as would assure to him a reasonable recompense. 
This enactment was the famous Statute of Monopolies, 
passed in the reign of James I. It must be regarded 
as the beginning of our modern system of patent law. 
Observe that it was not until four years after the land¬ 
ing of our pilgrim forefathers at Plymouth that it had 
its origin in the mother country. But, although 
called the Statute of Monopolies, it was not so much 
an act for creating exclusive privileges as for limiting 
them to cases in which they were founded in natural 
right or were obviously for the benefit of the realm. 
If a person had given to the world, through the exer¬ 
cise of his ingenuity or original thinking, that which 
was new and useful, he was regarded as having a just 
claim to recompense. While, therefore, the statute 
favored the issue of letters patent securing sole and 
exclusive rights for a limited period to inventors, 
authors, etc., it declared various other monopolies, 
such as had been created by royal authority for the 
benefit merely of favorite subjects, contrary to law 
and thereafter to be deemed “ utterly void and of 
none effect.” It is true that patents for inventions 
had been granted before, according to the royal 
caprice. But, since they had been upheld in all just 


98 


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cases by the common law courts, the claim to such 
patents, whenever the inventions were new and use¬ 
ful, was now asserted as a common-law right. The 
Statute of Monopolies, therefore, being declaratory 
of the common law, placed such patents under the 
protecting aegis of the British Constitution, and 
established the right to them not less firmly than 
the right of trial by jury. 

This statute marks an important epoch; since the 
protection thereby assured to inventors proved won¬ 
derfully helpful to progress in the useful arts. It was 
the result of a growing spirit of self-assertion, and an 
increasing demand on the part of British subjects for 
the recognition of their fundamental rights. Would 
time permit, I should be pleased to trace in detail 
the historic causes which led to its enactment. 
Several are of interest as originating partly in the 
progress of the arts themselves. But I can only 
touch upon them. 

First, and perhaps most important, was the inven¬ 
tion of the art of printing with interchangeable types 
which could be variously set and reset as at the pres¬ 
ent day. It originated in 1444. The first volume 
resulting from it is said to have been the Mazarin 
Bible, in the Latin tongue. This was followed by 
the Psalter and shortly afterwards by other publi¬ 
cations, including “ The Appeal Against the Turks,” 
then, as now, regarded among the most implacable 
enemies of Christendom. 

The art of printing made rapid headway, being 
promoted by the Revival of Learning which, twenty 


The World of Invention 


99 


years later, broke the night of the Middle Ages and 
created an immediate and urgent demand for books. 
It is undoubtedly true that the Revival itself was 
materially helped by the extraordinary cheapening 
in the cost of books, which resulted from the improve¬ 
ment in the art of printing and from various inven¬ 
tions and improvements in the manufacture of paper 
that afforded a substitute for parchment or vellum. 
Books could now be placed in the hands of the com¬ 
mon people, or of men of moderate means. 

The period of the Revival of Learning dates from 
soon after the capture of Constantinople by the 
Turks, in 1453, and the expulsion of its Greek scholars 
from the late capital of the Eastern Empire. Flee¬ 
ing into Italy, these scholars established flourishing 
schools, particularly at Florence, where an acquaint¬ 
ance was imparted with Greek philosophy, poetry, 
etc., and a thirst was created for classic literature. 
The demand for this literature was readily met by 
the new arts in book-making; and, in a brief 
interval, there was a wonderful dissemination of 
knowledge. 

Printing by the new mode was at first conducted 
with secrecy: but, in 1462, when the city of Mentz 
— where the printing offices of the inventor, Guten¬ 
berg, were located — was besieged and captured, the 
business was temporarily broken up; and the print¬ 
ers were soon scattered into other countries. In 
1465, the art was introduced into Italy; in 1469, 
into France; in 1474 probably, into England; and 


i 


) 


) 

> 1 


> 



100 


Variety Papers 


in 1475, into Spain. It is said that, throughout 
Europe, between the years 1470 and 1500, ten thou¬ 
sand editions of books and pamphlets were pub¬ 
lished — the most important part of them in Italy. 
Before the close of this period, all the Latin authors, 
and, in the next twenty years, nearly all of the more 
valuable Greek authors, were made accessible to 
every student. 

The profound influence of the burst of these two 
great classic literatures upon a reawakened world can 
hardly be measured. To appreciate it, one must 
bear in mind that, just prior to this, learning in 
Europe was nearly at its lowest ebb. A competent 
critic has remarked that no original books of any 
value, save those of Sir John Fortescue and Phillipe 
de Comines, had been produced north of the Alps 
during the fifteenth century. 

When Caxton’s Press was established in England 
in 1474, the number of students at Oxford University 
was but a fifth of what it had been a century earlier; 
“ Oxford Latin,” we are told, was “ proverbial for a 
jargon in which the very tradition of grammar had 
been lost.” Yet, in less than a generation, the stu¬ 
dents both at Oxford and Cambridge had greatly 
multiplied, and Latin and Greek, of remarkable 
purity, were taught there by competent professors. 
Not only this; but, to a creditable extent, education 
had been carried to the middle classes, or to those 
below the rank of professional scholars. 

The human mind, through a great part of Europe, 



The World of Invention 


101 


was wonderfully quickened, and turned with eager 
interest to nearly every branch of knowledge. 

We have already noticed that the first product in 
book form of the modern art of printing was the 
Mazarin Bible in Latin. Less than a century there¬ 
after, translations of the Bible into various European 
languages were published, and were distributed to a 
considerable extent — at least as respects the New 
Testament — among the masses, especially of England 
and Germany. Stimulated by their potent agency, 
the Protestant Reformation had reached its height; 
and, as a result of the discussions which it engendered, 
there had been a marked uplifting of the Catholic 
clergy in both intelligence and commendable disci¬ 
pline. 

The publication of King James’ version of the 
Scriptures, which was read by all classes, did more 
than anything else to fix the English language in its 
present form and to render it as little subject to 
change as the increase of knowledge and the demands 
of a growing civilization would permit. Yet, before 
this, and helpful to the same and other noble ends, 
there had been the upgrowth in England of a generous 
literature such as was rendered practicable, doubtless, 
only by improvement in mechanical facilities for the 
production of books and for their supply at small 
cost to a multitude of readers. 

And what a literature was this! Notice the fact 
that it includes preeminently that of the Elizabethan 
Age of England, presenting the names of such authors 


102 


Variety Payers 


as Sydney, Spenser, Shakespeare, Bacon, and Ben 
Jonson — a literature unrivaled in some respects by 
any that has followed. Observe too that it all came 
after a period of extraordinary intellectual dullness 
and within less than a century and a half of the 
introduction of Caxton’s Press into England. 

Summarizing the great events which were wonder¬ 
fully promoted, or rendered possible only, by Guten¬ 
berg’s invention of the art of printing — and each of 
which marks an epoch in the world’s history, — we 
notice that they include the Revival of Learning, the 
Reformation, the Development of Elizabethan Liter¬ 
ature, and the Fixing of a Standard for the English 
Language. Others, hardly less important than the 
two latter, occurred on the continent of Europe. But 
for this invention, none of these events, perhaps, 
would have fully transpired down to the present day. 

What, then, shall we say of the influence of Guten¬ 
berg’s invention? Was it less important than that of 
any great conception which has ever occurred in the 
world of thought? It may be answered: It was but 
a simple idea. True! But the world had waited for 
it over fifty centuries; and its coming, at once reft 
the darkness of the Middle Ages and let in a flood of 
light which caused the human intellect to glow and 
corruscate as never before. It gave wings to thought; 
and sent forth innumerable messengers, as from 
celestial abodes, inviting man to rise up, and stand 
forth again, in the image of his Maker. 

But were there no other inventions, about this time, 


The World of Invention 103 

which contributed effectually to the awakening of the 
human mind and the quickening of material progress? 

A little more than a century earlier, Flavio, a 
native of Pasitano in Italy, is said to have perfected 
the manner’s compass, or to have developed it by 
important improvements, and to have brought it to 
the favorable notice of navigators. Prior to this, the 
magnetic needle had not been trusted in venturing 
far upon unknown seas; but now, it gradually came 
into use. 

An adventurous mariner of Genoa, relying upon 
its guidance and on the aid of the astrolabe (a lately 
invented instrument for measuring the altitude of 
heavenly bodies) and being convinced, by the study 
of charts and by speculative considerations, of the 
existence of a way across the western seas to the 
Indies, determined to find this way, braving the dan¬ 
gers of the trackless ocean, and to trust for his 
reward to the discovery of new lands. Through 
eleven years, he sought aid for his enterprise from 
various sovereigns; until at last the queen of Spain 
lent a favorable ear. In August, 1492, Columbus 
set forth on his voyage; and, on the 12th of October 
following, discovered the New World. This event 
occurred but thirty-nine years after the capture of 
Constantinople by the Turks and the flight of its 
Greek scholars to Florence. It created a profound 
sensation throughout Europe, and awakened an ex¬ 
pectancy which resulted forthwith in other voyages 
of discovery and exploration. In 1497, John and 


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Sebastian Cabot found their way across the North 
Atlantic to Labrador and Newfoundland; and, in 
the same year, Vasco da Gama, a Portuguese navi¬ 
gator, rounded the Cape of Good Hope and entered 
the Indian Ocean. These and other discoveries 
following in quick succession turned the minds of 
men to new and wider fields, and begot hopes which 
were a powerful incentive to exploration. 

In the midst of the growing thought, Copernicus, a 
Polish scholar, turned his attention to the heavens, 
and announced his theory that the earth is but a 
revolving planet, moving in a definite orbit around 
the sun as the center of a system which includes 
other planetary bodies moving in similar orbits. 
The Copemican theory was opposed to the long- 
accepted Ptolemaic theory; and provoked much con¬ 
troversy. For a time, it was rejected by many 
astronomers, and was denounced by the clergy of 
the Romish Church, as contrary to their interpreta¬ 
tions of the Holy Scriptures. A little more than 
three-quarters of a century later, it found confirma¬ 
tion in the discoveries of Galileo. A new instrument 
had been invented by him, by which the firmament, 
itself, was wonderfully enlarged. It was the tele¬ 
scope, first constructed in 1609. Conceive the aston¬ 
ishment of the world when told by Galileo, for the 
first time, of myriads of stars before unseen, of 
mountains and valleys in the moon, of the peculiar 
appearance of Saturn — due to its rings, — and of 
four moons or satellites revolving around Jupiter. 


The World of Invention 


105 


But, as Galileo advocated the Copernican theory, he 
was brought before the Inquisition, was compelled 
publicly to renounce his asserted belief, and for a 
time was imprisoned. 

But the world of thought moved on. With the 
discovery of new continents and new stars, the uni¬ 
verse seemed immeasurably expanding; and men 
began to question as never before, and to wonder 
what announcement would next startle them from 
their imperfect realizations. 

Is it surprising then that, with such enlargements 
of the fields of knowledge, with such added stores of 
learning, and with such a quickening of the human 
intellect — all, within a century and a half, — and 
with a realization by the world of its deep indebted¬ 
ness for these blessings to the great inventions before 
mentioned and especially to the labors of authors in 
multiplying books, — some one of the enlightened 
nations should have thought it desirable at last to 
encourage and protect inventors and authors by care¬ 
fully securing to them a property right in their own 
productions? We are happy to say that the advantage 
of such encouragement and protection was first 
recognized broadly by practical England, the land of 
our forefathers. Hence, the important reservations 
which were made in the British Statute of Monopolies 
respecting letters patent for inventions and copy¬ 
rights for books and other literary productions. 

The beneficial influence of this statute — enacted 
in 1624, or in the 21st year of the reign of James I — 


106 


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was soon felt; although, as respects inventions, it 
was not strongly marked until nearly a century later, 
a fact partly due, perhaps, to the manner in which 
the law was viewed by the courts. 


The most striking progress in the world of inven¬ 
tions has been made since the year 1750. 

About the year 1764, James Watt began a series of 
improvements in the steam engine, rendering it so 
serviceable for general application that he has since 
been deemed substantially its inventor. The most 
important of these improvements was the double 
acting condenser. Other engines driven by steam 
had existed before — for instance, Newcomen’s, — 
but they were so crude and imperfect as to be of very 
limited use. 

The history of steam inventions is exceedingly 
interesting. Their name is legion, and a mere outline 
of them would fill a cyclopedia. The most important 
in their fundamental relations are those of George 
Stephenson, who is deemed the chief inventor of the 
locomotive, and of Robert Fulton, the inventor of 
the steamship. Among the most noticeable features 
of Stephenson’s invention were the multi-tubular 
boiler, the device for discharging waste steam into 
the smoke-stack — thereby increasing the draft and 
causing a quicker combustion of fuel, greater heat, 
and more rapid making of steam, — direct communi¬ 
cation between the steam cylinders and the wheels 



The World of Invention 


107 


rolling on the track — thus saving power, —and joint 
movement of the wheels, secured by horizontal 
connecting rods. Fulton’s invention related chiefly 
to the adaptation of the engine to the hull of a vessel 
constructed for its accommodation and to the con¬ 
nection of the engine with a suitable crank-shaft for 
the paddle-wheels. 

The gain to the world from the invention of the 
steam engine and from its employment for railroad 
and navigation purposes and its use in thousands of 
industries is inestimable. Attempts have been made 
in various ways to indicate it, but with only trifling 
success. Before the beginning of the last quarter of 
the nineteenth century, it was said that the steam 
power of Great Britain alone was equal to the power 
of 400,000,000 men. Think what marvels this potent 
agent performs in the place of human toil, — how it 
multiplies products for our enjoyment, annihilates 
distance, brings remote nations into close intercourse, 
and promotes exchanges between distant climes, — 
how it opens the wilderness to the transforming hand 
of man and carries civilization into the but lately 
accessible interior of continents, — in short, how it 
broadens the touch of humanity and links man to man 
in universal brotherhood. Do we realize that it has 
metamorphosed the world in but little more than a 
century? And shall we wonder that men have called 
the present “ The Age of Steam and that the poet 
personifies this mysterious power, and gives it voice 
in song? 


108 


Variety Papers 


“ Harness me down with your iron bands, 

Be sure of your curb and rein; 

For I scorn the power of your puny hands 
As the tempest scorns a chain. 

How I laughed, as I lay concealed from sight 
For many a countless hour, 

At the childish boast of human might 
And the pride of human power! 

“ When I saw an army upon the land, 

A navy upon the seas, 

Creeping along, a snail-like band, 

Or waiting the wayward breeze, — 

When I marked the peasant faintly reel 
With the toil which he daily bore, 

As he feebly turned at the tardy wheel 
Or tugged at the weary oar, — 

“ When I measured the panting courser’s speed, 
The flight of the carrier dove, 

As they bore the law a king decreed, 

Or the lines of impatient love, — 

I could not but think how the world would feel, 
As these were outstripped afar, 

When I should be bound to the rushing keel 
Or chained to the flying car. 

“ Ha, ha! they found me out at last, 

They invited me forth at length; 

And I rushed to my throne with a thunder-blast, 
And laughed in my iron strength. 


“ Hurrah, hurrah! the water’s o’er, 

The mountains, steep, decline; 

Time — space — have yielded to my power, — 
The world, the world, is mine. 



The World of Invention 



“ The ocean pales, where'er I sweep, 

To hear my strength rejoice; 

And the monsters of the briny deep 
Cower, trembling, at my voice. 

I carry the wealth and the lords of earth, 
The thoughts of the god-like mind; 

The wind lags after my flying forth, 

The lightning is left behind." 


I should be glad to speak of numerous marvels of 
invention, but must indulge in the mention of but few. 

Let us consider for a moment the machinery for 
manufacturing fabrics of cotton, wool, etc. Nearly 
all that is driven by steam or water power has been 
invented since about the middle of the eighteenth 
century. Look for an instant at the railway spinning- 
frame, popularly called a mule. Observe the amazing 
ingenuity of its construction, by what seeming intelli¬ 
gence it is guided, and how deftly and delicately it 
accomplishes its work. A single person tends it with 
little labor. Yet it spins 1500 threads at once, and 
turns off 7,000,000 yards a day. How harmoniously 
the massive structure moves, and in what graceful 
measure! How beautiful, its rhythmical action! It is 
an epic poem in iron and steel; its verse is heroic. 
And of what does it sing? It sings of a band of in¬ 
ventors who set sail on a new Argonautic expedition 
in search of a golden fleece. It tells of their hopes, 
their ventures, their heroic struggles, and their occa- 


no 


Variety Papers 


sional defeats; it recounts their dalliances, the fatal 
spells sometimes cast around them, and their fortu¬ 
nate deliverances; it celebrates their combats and 
victories; it chants the requiem of their lost com¬ 
panions; and it proclaims the final triumph when the 
dragon which so long opposed them was slain and the 
glittering prize was won. 

Few great inventions are the product of a single 
mind or the embodiment of a single conception. They 
are built up of improvements, piled one upon another 
and supplanting former improvements. They are the 
result of many trials, experiments, partial successes, 
disappointments and ultimate victories. The number 
of patents taken out for machines of a single class or 
to accomplish a single purpose bears abundant testi¬ 
mony to this. In 1888, the number which had been 
procured for spinning machinery, alone, was more 
than a thousand; for looms, over twelve hundred. 

The expenditures of inventors in developing ma¬ 
chinery up to the point of practical success are some¬ 
times enormous. It is said that not less than 
$10,000,000 were spent in the construction of wool- 
combing machinery, before it afforded a satisfactory 
result. Without the encouragement afforded by 
patent laws, no such attempts would ever be 
made. 

But while the outlay in experiments is frequently 
large, and often results in failures, the successes are 
sometimes extremely profitable. Sir Henry Bessemer 
spent over $100,000 in perfecting his process for 


The World of Invention 


111 


making Bessemer steel; but the profit realized made 
him more than a millionaire. 

Most of the benefit from inventions accrues to the 
public; and consists chiefly in economical savings, 
especially of labor. The saving by improvements on 
the wooden plow of a century ago amounts, in the 
United States alone, to more than $50,000,000 a year. 
Yet the first of these improvements met with much 
disfavor. There was an absurd notion that a cast- 
iron plowshare would poison the land. The saving 
by the use of the cultivator is not less than $40,000,000 
a year; by the use of harvesters, probably $100,- 
000,000 a year. From such facts, we see how the 
productive wealth of the nation has been increased by 
labor-saving inventions. It is not surprising there¬ 
fore that the United States, with its extensive ter¬ 
ritory and its unrivaled progress in the field of 
invention, has already acquired a wealth exceeding 
that of any of the older nations of the globe. 

During the Colonial Period, the patent laws of 
England were operative in our own country: but 
were of no great account; since our forefathers were 
conquering the wilderness, and did but little for the 
development of manufactures. Yet a good number 
of patents were granted in the colonies. When the 
Federal government was organized, its framers, mind¬ 
ful of the protection of inventors and authors, pro¬ 
vided in the National Constitution that Congress 
should have the power “ to promote the progress of 
science and useful arts by securing for limited times 


112 


Variety Papera 


to authors and inventors the exclusive right to their 
respective writings and discoveries/’ But it was not 
until the year 1790 that the first statute was passed 
respecting inventions. It was inspired by Thomas 
Jefferson; who, it is said, may be justly regarded as 
the “ Father of the United States Patent Office.” It 
was more liberal than the English law; since it re¬ 
quired no larger fees than were deemed necessary for 
the current expenses of the office. We are told, 
Jefferson took great pride in the establishment of our 
patent system, and gave his personal consideration to 
every application for a patent that was made from 
the year 1790 to 1793; that when an application for 
a patent came, he would summon, as members of an 
examining board, Henry Knox of Massachusetts, who 
was Secretary of War, and Edmund Randolph of 
Virginia, who was Attorney-General, — and, acting 
with them, would inquire into the case and determine 
the novelty and utility of the invention. 

In the year 1793, the original statute was amended; 
and it has since undergone various modifications. 
But it has always remained of a liberal character, 
being in this respect unrivaled, till within a few 
years, by the patent law of any other country. Un¬ 
doubtedly the remarkable progress of the United 
States in the useful arts is largely due to the generous 
provisions of this statute. During the first ten years 
after the enactment of our original patent law, the whole 
number of patents issued in this country was only 
250; since about 1881, it has been over 15,000 a year. 


The World oj Invention 


113 


The variety of inventions for which patents are 
sought is wonderful. They relate to nearly every 
branch of industry and almost every convenience. 
Some are of the most radical character, and are of the 
utmost utility; others are trivial, and, in a few in¬ 
stances, ludicrous or amusing. The latter include, 
for example, a machine for forcing hens to lay eggs, 
a device for ridding cheese of skippers, a mode of 
cooking stale eggs so as to make them eatable, a 
cow’s tail holder to keep the fringe of the tail out of 
the milk-maid’s eyes, a device for preventing snor¬ 
ing, a nose improver, and an automatic sheet-iron 
cat. 

A brief description of the latter may be interesting. 
It is said to be moved by clock-work, and provided 
with steel claws and teeth. A bellows inside swells 
up the tail to a belligerent size, and a tremolo attach¬ 
ment causes the cat to emit noises as hideous as those 
of any veritable night-prowler. Placed in the yard 
or set upon the roof of a city house, it is said that he 
invites attack from the neighbors’ cats; and that no 
sooner does he feel their weight than his teeth and 
claws work with startling rapidity and he is soon 
master of the field. 

The value of our American patent system has been 
widely recognized, and has led to the amendment of 
the patent laws of many other countries. This result 
has been brought about largely by the attention 
which was directed to the progress of the useful arts 
in America, by our Centennial Exhibition, following 


114 


Variety Papers 


which, various foreign representatives urged upon 
their governments the importance of improvements 
in their patent systems. 

In conclusion, let me ask your attention to the 
dignity and grandeur of the mechanic arts; to the 
fact that they afford scope for the noblest thought 
and the most beneficent attainments in knowledge, 
and that, through their intelligent exercise and im¬ 
provement, blessings have been conferred upon man¬ 
kind equal to those received through any other 
agency except such as immediately affects our 
spiritual welfare. 


V 


ENGLISH AND AMERICAN PRONUNCIATION 

In the summer of 1891, I met, in the City of York, 
England, many members of the British Archaeological 
Society, one of the principal learned bodies in Great 
Britain. The society was holding its meetings there. 
The Marquis of Ripon was at its head; and the mem¬ 
bers were men of more than average culture. Re¬ 
garding them as at least fairly representative of the 
educated classes in our ancestral isle, I listened 
attentively to their conversation, and gave especial 
heed to their pronunciation. I was curious to learn 
whether there was really any such difference between 
cultivated English and American speech as is some¬ 
times remarked. The opportunity was favorable: I 
was with them about two days; and, on Sunday, was 
honored with an invitation to attend, in their com¬ 
pany, a religious service at York Minster. 

During the ensuing evening, while a few of us were 
gathered in a small parlor, the conversation turned 
upon Alexandria, in Egypt, as an attractive winter 
resort. One of the gentlemen, speaking of the many 
English and Americans who gather there, remarked 
that two or three schools had been established in the 
city lately for teaching the English language. An¬ 
other, catching at his remark, asked in a slightly 
ironic tone, “ Do they teach English or American? ” 


115 


116 


Variety Papers 


The question was hardly presumptuous, as will appear, 
for the following reasons. 

First, we must admit that there is a considerable 
list of words whose meanings in America differ some¬ 
what from those in England. Without attempting 
to enumerate them, I will mention a few which are 
used here in peculiar senses, and will give their equiva¬ 
lents in these senses on the other side of the Atlantic. 

Appreciate, for enhance in value. English writers 
seldom or never use appreciate as the opposite of 
depreciate. 

Admire, for be delighted, — as I should admire to 
hear him. 

Banter, for challenge, — as he bantered him to en¬ 
gage in a race. 

Bound, for obliged, — as he was bound to do it. 

Deed, for convey, — as he deeded him the property. 

Mail, for post. 

Raise, for procure, — as I purpose to raise money. 

Sick, for any kind of bodily illness. Englishmen 
rarely use the word, sick, in a physical sense, except 
with reference to nausea or sickness of the stomach. 

Biscuits, for cakes of soft bread as well as of hard, — 
the word, in England, meaning only hard bread, or 
what we call crackers. 

Bureau, for chest of drawers. 

Connections, for relatives by marriage, — the term 
relations, in England, being applied indiscriminately 
to all with whom they are allied either by blood or by 
marriage. 


English and American Pronunciation 117 

Gentleman and lady, as applied to persons of in¬ 
ferior social rank. 

Help, for servant. 

Limb, for leg. 

Dress, for gown. 

Lumber, for cut or sawn timber. 

Notion, for inclination, — as I have a notion to do 
it. 

Pitcher, for jug. An Englishman, at the table, 
would say, Pass me the milk jug. 

Temper, for passion, — as he showed temper. In 
England, this would signify control of passion rather 
than indulgence in anger. 

Timber, for forest, — a usage more common in the 
southern and western portions of the United States 
than in New England. 

I might add many other words, the American usage 
of which is criticised abroad. The list would be much 
larger, if it included words which in our own country 
have acquired peculiar figurative meanings, and 
which, in many instances, partake of the nature of 
slang: for example, ventilate, for expose or express 
freely, — as, their rascally scheme, when discovered, 
was ventilated in the newspapers, — Alderman Jones 
ventilated his ideas on the subject. 

But, besides the differences in meaning, it must be 
admitted that there are also considerable differences 
in pronunciation and modes of intonation. To our 
ears, an Englishman speaks with a slight foreign 
accent. In many cases, it is nearly intermediate be- 


118 


Variety Papers 


tween that of the educated Irish and the American. 
His voice is strongly modulated — often taking the 
rising inflection at the end of a sentence; while that 
of the American tends to a monotone. A sojourner 
abroad, on returning to this country, is impressed 
with the prevailing monotony of American speech. 

Some of the vowel sounds in certain words are 
dwelt upon a little longer, or have greater quantity 
relatively, in England than in America; and this oc¬ 
curs without reference to emphasis or elocutionary 
effect. I was struck with this fact in the conversa¬ 
tions of members of the Archaeological Society. In 
the discourse which I heard from the Canon of York 
Minster, he said most instead of most — the o sound 
being considerably prolonged. In like manner, he 
said prayer instead of prayer, — heere, instead of 
here. I noticed similar peculiarities in an address by 
Archdeacon (now Dean) Farrar, at Westminster 
Abbey, and in a sermon by the Canon of St. Paul's. 

In England, oftener than in America, the letter a 
approximates in sound to a in father, or is intermedi¬ 
ate between this sound and that of a in man. An 
Englishman says branch * not branch nor brahnch; 
glass, not glass nor glahs; raft, not raft nor rahft. 
The greater prevalence of the short sound of a, in our 
own country, probably was brought about between 

* The vowel a (having a dot over it) indicates the intermediate 
sound between short a and a in father, — as marked by Ayres — 
and as denoted by Worcester with a short horizontal line sur¬ 
mounted by a vertical line. 



English and American Pronunciation 119 

two and three generations ago, by the imperfect 
notation of a sounds in Walker’s Dictionary — which 
marked the intermediate sound, in all cases, the same 
as the short sound. American lexicographers have 
long protested against this fault, but it is still common 
here. 

Mere and merely are very commonly pronounced 
in England mere and merely, the e having a short 
sound the same as in merry. This is noticeable in the 
speech of many educated men. 

Been is seldom pronounced as here, with the short 
sound of i as in pin; nor is it pronounced with the full 
long sound of e, the same as in bean and as it is given 
by some Americans who, having returned from a 
brief sojourn abroad, make a pedantic attempt at 
English pronunciation. The Englishman begins his 
utterance of the double vowel in been, with the sound 
of long e and glides into that of short i as in pin — 
thus, be'in. It is not easy for us to copy this peculiar¬ 
ity ; since it is a combination of vowel sounds such as, 
I believe, does not occur at all in American speech. 
The same peculiarity is sometimes heard in his pro¬ 
nunciation of in, pin and other words in which the 
combination, i, n, occurs — thus e'in, pe'in. It is an 
approximation to the e sound of i as heard in Irish 
speech and in various languages of continental Europe, 
although falling a little short of it. It is true that 
many English dictionaries mark the vowel sound in 
been as e long, while others mark it as i short: but 
neither are quite correct according to English usage; 


120 


Variety Papers 


since it is a compromise between the two. Their fail¬ 
ure to indicate the intermediate or composite sound 
probably is due, in some instances, to their imperfect 
systems of marking for pronunciation — which are 
much inferior to various systems lately devised in 
America, — while, in other instances, it may be due to 
the want of careful discrimination. The pronunciation 
ben appears to have been warranted as long ago as 
when Spenser wrote his “ Faerie Queene,” for the word 
was then frequently spelled ben. It has persisted to 
no little extent, among the uneducated, down to the 
present day. But there is no justification for it. 

I have referred to a tendency in England to prefix 
to the sound of short i, in some cases, a slight sound 
of e — thus, pe'in for pin. In America there is a 
growing disposition — which is inexcusable — to give 
to i in many instances, the full sound of long e; for 
example, alpeen for alpine * or alpine, rapeen for 
rapine, teeny for tiny or tiny, chloreen for chlorine, 
bromeed for bromide, and even pantomeem for 
pantomime. This fault is most noticeable among 
young persons who have lately taken up the study of 
French. It should be carefully avoided. 

There are several words in our language, in which, 
it appears to me, the soimd of long o is slightly short¬ 
ened or made intermediate between that arid the 
sound of o in done; for instance, whole, both, quoth, 
and more. All of these, except quoth, have been 

* The dot (.), used beneath the middle vowel, indicates the 
obscure sound—as marked in Worcester’s dictionaries. 



English and American Pronunciation 121 

marked uniformly, by the dictionary makers, with 
the long sound; and by a considerable majority of 
them, quoth has been so marked. Buchanan, per¬ 
haps, was the first to observe that o in quoth had not 
the full long sound; and, therefore, marked it as hav¬ 
ing the short sound — the same as in moth. But, 
in this, he was obviously wrong. Walker dissented, 
yet remarked: “ This latter pronunciation is certainly 
more agreeable to the general sound of o before th, as 
in broth, cloth, etc.; but my ear fails me ” (he con¬ 
tinues) “ if I have not always heard it pronounced 
like the o in doth, as if written kwuth , which is the 
pronunciation Mr. Elphinstone gives it, and, in my 
opinion, is the true one.” Among the later authorities, 
Worcester gives kwuth and kwoth, preferring the for¬ 
mer. The difficulty, in deciding between the two, 
really lies in the fact that, until recently, orthoepists 
have not noticed the few instances of a well-defined 
intermediate sound between long and short o; and 
accordingly, in their keys to pronunciation, have not 
provided for it. This intermediate is perceived only 
by careful comparison. Some years ago, before I was 
aware of the difference of opinion respecting quoth , I 
remember having a little discussion with a well- 
known college president about the sound of o in whole. 
He dissented from my opinion that it had not the full 
long sound. After several futile attempts to convince 
him of the slightly shortened sound, I mentioned an 
inscription on a placard hanging in the window of a 
clothes-cleaning shop, “ Spots taken out without 


122 


Variety Papers 


cleaning the whole.” When I asked the learned gentle¬ 
man if he would read it, “ Spots taken out without 
cleaning the hole,” he laughed heartily and admitted 
his mistake. 

It may be proper to add, at this point, that Web¬ 
ster’s key to pronunciation, in 1840, gave only four 
sounds for the vowel o; while Worcester’s, in 1846, 
gave six sounds, and Sargent’s Pronouncing Spelling 
Book in 1864 gave nine sounds. Sargent notices 
the shortened sound I have mentioned, — but only 
when it occurs before r, which he thinks modifies 
it -— as, for example, in more. I do not know to what 
extent it has been observed by others. So far as I 
have noticed, long o, when it comes before th, is slightly 
shortened, or has the intermediate sound; as in both, 
loth, sloth, and quoth. Its shortened sound in loth 
will be readily perceived on comparing it with the 
sound of o in loathe. 

In respect to the sound of long u, as it occurs in the 
final syllable, ure, when the latter has a secondary 
accent, I have noticed no difference between culti¬ 
vated English and American speech. The words, 
literature, forfeiture, coverture, aperture, overture, 
and portraiture, so far as I have observed, are pro¬ 
nounced about the same as in this country. With 
many speakers, there is a tendency to connect the 
preceding t with the ure, and to pronounce the final 
syllable chure. But, in both countries, among those 
who are most careful, I believe that such syllabication 
is avoided, and that the pronunciation is lit'-er-at-ure, 


English and American Pronunciation 123 

for'-feit-ure, cov'-ert-ure, etc.; although the effect, 
in gliding speech, is very nearly the same as if the t 
were included with the last syllable. 

About the beginning of the present century, 
Walker, in attempting to correct the common fault 
of pronouncing long u like oo — as in literature (lit'- 
er-a-tooi*) and furniture (fur'-ni-tooi*) —not only 
sanctioned the pronunciation t’ure (which he spelled 
t, s, hj u, r, e) for the final syllable in words where it 
has a secondary accent, but also in words like nature 
(nat'-yur), fracture (fract'-yur), picture (pict'-yur), 
etc., in which it is unaccented. In America, both 
Webster and Worcester protested against the change 
in respect to the unaccented final syllable — preferring 
nat'-yur to nat'-ure and fract'-yur to fract'-ure. But 
apparently they carried their rejection of the pronun¬ 
ciation, t’ure (which closely approximates to chure) 
into many words where the final syllable — as in 
literature — has a secondary accent. Both, however, 
spelled out the pronunciation of the last syllable in 
literature, furniture, overture, aperture and other 
similar words, t, u, r, e, giving the long soimd to the u. 
The rejection, in such words, of Walker’s marking 
(which nearly indicates the sound of u as if spelled 
y, u), for a time, misled many Americans into pro¬ 
nouncing the final syllable toor, thus causing a return 
to the fault which Sheridan, first, and Walker, after¬ 
wards, undertook to correct. Yet some who were 
more careful pronounced the t, u, r, e with the u 
sound the same as in pure, the y element at the be- 


124 


Variety Papers 


ginning of the u being slightly obscured. The pro¬ 
nunciation, toor, was most common among the disci¬ 
ples of Worcester; since Worcester used the marking 
lure with the long sign over u for many more words 
than Webster did. I believe, however, that both 
Webster and Worcester meant that the t, u, r, e 
should be pronounced as if the u were spelled y , u, 
with the y slightly obscured, as in pure , and as if t 
were the final letter of the syllable preceding the 
last, and were partly blended with the u, in gliding 
speech. In fact, ture can hardly be pronounced in 
any other way so as to give the sound of u as if 
spelled y , u — even with the y somewhat obscured, — 
since a considerable change in the position of the 
vocal organs must be made in passing from the t to 
the y, u sound. That it requires a greater change 
than is needful in passing from t to the long sound of 
either of the other vowels is apparent on pronouncing 
tame, team, tile and tone, after pronouncing tare 
with a distinct y, u sound. If it was not the intention 
of Webster and Worcester to give this sound, they 
certainly were in error as respects cultivated English 
speech so far as I have observed it. 

Englishmen speak most of the consonants more 
distinctly than we do. Mr. Lowell remarks upon the 
rifle-crack of the Englishman’s yes and no. Certainly 
it is in striking contrast with the American’s l’ye and 
n’nur. A cultured English woman in a railway 
coach with me, comparing the road over which we 
were traveling, with the Midland road, said, “ I like 


English and American Pronunciation 


125 


the Midland much better” — distinctly sounding both 
t’s in the last word. Many of her countrymen, in 
comparing two things, would say, “ This is better than 
that ”) while most Americans would say, “This ’s 
bet’er ’n that,” dropping the i sound from is, the 
second t from better, and the t, h, a from than. Such 
imperfect enunciation certainly is more common 
among the educated classes here than in Great 
Britain. It may be the result partly of an indolent 
habit, engendered when our country was so sparsely 
populated that few persons were privileged daily to 
hear the conversation of educated men, and when 
therefore there was a peculiar liability to degeneracy 
of speech. Yet a careful examination of English 
literature, from the time of Chaucer to a much later 
period, shows that such a habit doubtless was in¬ 
herited, in a measure, from our English ancestry. 

I am inclined to think that the consonants which 
are most frequently disregarded or are least dis¬ 
tinctly uttered are those formed in good part with 
the aid of the palate and of the teeth. In America, 
the prevalence of catarrhal disease — deadening the 
action of the palate — and the premature loss of 
teeth, for many generations past, may have had 
much to do with this neglect. Until the early part 
of the nineteenth century, missing teeth, it will be 
remembered, were seldom replaced with artificial 
ones. 

The most noticeable of the consonant sounds, as 
spoken in England, is the letter r. It is scarcely ever 



126 


Variety Papers 


trilled as in Irish speech or in French; but is strongly 
enunciated, and sometimes slightly rolled. An Eng¬ 
lishman does not pronounce n, o, r like the word, 
gnaw, but always nor, dwelling upon the r. 

Richard Ayres, in his pronouncing hand-book, en¬ 
titled “The Orthoepist,” says: “When r is preceded 
by a short vowel, it sometimes has the effect of 
blending the syllables. Thus the dissyllables, higher, 
lower, mower, rower, sower, and flower, are pro¬ 
nounced precisely like the monosyllables, hire, lore, 
more, roar, soar and flour.” I do not think this is 
quite true in American speech; although, in most 
cases, the difference might not be strongly marked; 
but, in English speech, the forcible sound of the final 
r in the monosyllables probably would render it im¬ 
possible, in nearly all cases, to distinguish between 
them and the nearly corresponding dissyllables; as, 
for example, in the monosyllable, roar, and the dis¬ 
syllable, rower, as they occur in the phrases “ the 
roar of the ocean ” and “ the rower of the boat.” 
The strong sound of the final r in the monosyllables 
is necessarily introduced by the sound of e as in her, 
which gives to the r the effect of an additional syllable. 
Hence, in such words, the feebler sound of r, as in 
American speech, is preferable. 

The remedy for imperfect articulation, especially of 
the consonants, must be found in our schools. I 
would suggest, as a means of correction, the more 
frequent and thorough drill of reading classes in such 
old-fashioned exercises as those beginning as follows: 


English and American Pronunciation 127 

“ Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers ”; 

“ Theophilus Thistle, the celebrated thistle-sifter 

“ Peter Prickle Prangle, the prickly prangly pear- 
picker 

“ Round the rough rock, the ragged rascal ran 
and so on. 

We have many mispronunciations in New England, 
not discreditably acquired; since they were directly 
transmitted to us, through seven or eight generations, 
from our ancestors in the mother county. A good 
share of them were provincialisms originating in Mid¬ 
dlesex, Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, Chester, etc. — coun¬ 
ties in England from which our forefathers came out, 
and the names of which they gratefully preserved in 
their new homes, — while others were prevalent in 
nearly all parts of England. Some of these mispro¬ 
nunciations have died out, and become nearly for¬ 
gotten, on the other side of the Atlantic; and hence 
are now regarded by our British cousins as Ameri¬ 
canisms. On the other hand, it is doubtless true that 
some which still prevail in England have disappeared 
here. Of those that linger in America, and which are 
of British origin, I may mention the following: — 
bile for boil, k’yow for cow, dew for do, handkercher 
for handkerchief, heern for heard, hist for hoist, jine 
for join, ki'ver for cover, lather for leather, obleeged 
for obliged, pint for point, rare for rear, scart for 
scared. This list could be largely extended. 

In the words, boil, hoist, join, and point, it will be 
noticed that the diphthong oi has been pronounced i, 


128 


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the second vowel being the one sounded; thus, bile 
for boil. Our Saxon forefathers of continental 
Europe, like their German descendants of to-day, 
were in the habit of sounding only the second vowel 
of most diphthongs; and the conquering hosts from 
Saxony which settled in England not only continued 
this practice, but their posterity carried it indis¬ 
criminately into the pronunciation of a good share of 
the Norman French words which they accepted after 
their subjugation. At a later period, an attempt was 
made to modify this usage by giving greater promi¬ 
nence in many cases to the first vowel, as in boil ( boyl ) 
for bile, hoist ( hoyst ) for hist, etc. But the persist¬ 
ency of the former habit is shown by the fact that, 
only two generations ago, the antiquated pronuncia¬ 
tion was quite common, — that, even now, it pre¬ 
vails to some extent, — and that, in a considerable 
number of the hymns of the church, still in use, the 
old sound survives in rhyming couplets—for example, 

“ That grand assembly would I join [jine\, 

Where all thy saints around thee shine.” 

One day in my boyhood, when I was visiting a 
grocery, to which I had been sent on an errand, a 
schoolmate of mine, who had come there for oil, and 
whom our teacher lately had told he must not pro¬ 
nounce p, o, i, n, t, pint, set a small jug on the counter 
before the storekeeper, and innocently said, “ Marm 
wants a point of ile.” 

Of the mispronunciation, lather for leather, it may 


English and American Pronunciation 129 

be remarked that this is seldom heard now except in 
the sense of whip — the original significance being to 
whip with a leathern thong. We occasionally hear 
the phrase, “ I'll lather the baste,” both lather and 
baste being good old Saxon pronunciations. They 
call to mind the following lines of a rollicking Irish 
ditty in burlesque honor of Bacchus: — * 

“ Whilst abusing the villain, 

Came riding, postilion, 

A nate little boy on the back of a baste 
Big enough, faith, to ate him, 

But he lather’d and bate him, 

And the baste to unsate him ne’er struggled the laste.” 

It will be noticed how in the above misspelled words, 
che second vowels of the superseded diphthongs have 
been used to represent the present Irish pronuncia¬ 
tions, which are the same as those of the early Anglo- 
Saxon. 

To any who may feel a special interest in learning 
the origin of Yankee mispronunciations, I would 
recommend the reading of James Russell Lowell's 
Introduction to the Second Series of the Biglow 
Papers. It is both learned and entertaining; and is 
well worthy of careful perusal by all who desire an 
acquaintance with the history of our vernacular. 

I might mention other differences between English 
and American pronunciation; but the foregoing will 
suffice for the present paper. 


* By Samuel Lover, in his well-known novel, “ Handy Andy.” 



130 


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In conclusion, it may be remarked that nowhere, 
probably, do we hear better English pronunciation, 
on the average, than among the educated classes in 
New England. This is due partly — beyond ques¬ 
tion — to the superior intelligence of many of the 
early New England colonists; but still more, to the 
careful teaching of pronunciation in our common 
schools. Yet it is by no means free from faults. 

Generally, American speech would be greatly im¬ 
proved if the consonants were more carefully enun¬ 
ciated, and if more attention were paid to suitable 
modulation. Especially would public speakers render 
themselves more agreeable, if they avoided the high- 
keyed monotone into which so many glide during the 
utterance of their most fervent periods. A natural 
tone of voice should be assiduously cultivated. 

Speech is the gift of men and of angels. Let us be 
careful, therefore, not to abuse it, either in the choice 
of words, in pronunciation, or in the mode of utterance. 


VI 


STORMS: THEIR ORIGIN AND LAWS OF 

MOTION 

If any of us were asked, as students of Nature, to 
define the abode of man, we should be likely to answer: 
It is nearly everywhere on the land surface of the 
earth; being unmindful of the fact that, like the birds 
of the air and the fish of the sea, we have our range 
chiefly in a fluid element. 

We live at the bottom of an aerial ocean. Over our 
heads, to a depth probably of more than five hundred 
miles, it rolls its tempestuous billows. It presses upon 
our bodies with a weight of fifteen pounds to a square 
inch, or about twenty tons to each person. It grows 
lighter and less dense, as we ascend, expanding into 
such tenuity that the most delicate tests fail to mark 
the limit which separates it from the nothingness of 
space. It has its tides, its currents, its waves, its 
eddies and its whirlpools. Its touch, when gently 
stirred, is as light as that of a fairy’s wand; but, when 
strongly moved, more forcible than that of the wildest 
breakers on a sea-beaten shore. 

Were the aerial ocean, everywhere and at all times, 
of the same temperature, it would be nearly at rest. 
But the sun pierces it with his flaming shafts, disturb¬ 
ing its well-balanced tranquillity and sending troublous 
currents hither and thither to restore the equilibrium. 


131 


132 


Variety Papers 


Seemingly “ the wind bloweth whither it listeth 
yet it is guided by a providential hand. The tempests 
are marshaled in battalions, and move in orderly 
circuits. There is a law of storms. To this law our 
attention is invited. Let us consider it chiefly as it is 
operative in the north temperate zone, since but little 
more is possible in the brief interval at our command. 

Observation shows that there is a general circulation 
of the atmosphere, consisting in the flow of cold air 
toward the warmer regions of the globe and warm air 
toward the colder regions — just as in a heated dwell¬ 
ing, through open doors, there is a flow of cold air into 
the warm rooms and of warm air into the cold. If the 
earth were a mere cylinder, of immeasurable length, 
and everywhere of equal diameter, and it were girdled 
by a single heated belt, the circulation of the atmos¬ 
phere would consist simply in an influx of cold air 
along the surface, on each side of the heated belt, and 
an outflow of warm air overhead. But, since the 
earth is globular and unequally warmed in various 
parts within the same latitudes, the atmospheric 
circulation is remarkably complex. From the tropics 
to the equator — whence the flow is but little affected 
by the rotundity of the earth’s surface (the circum¬ 
ference at the equator being only one-eleventh greater 
than the circumference at the tropics) — the circula¬ 
tion is comparatively regular. Here are the regions 
of the trade winds, which are nearly constant, varying 
their range only as the sun moves north and south, 
carrying with it the belt of greatest heat. 


Storms: Their Origin and Laws of Motion 133 

It will be remembered, however, that the trade 
winds do not blow directly from the north and south, 
toward the belt of greatest heat, but have a westward 
tendency; so that on the north side of this belt they 
come from the northeast, and on the south side from 
the southeast. I take the liberty to explain the cause 
of this westward tendency, although the explanation 
of it may be familiar to many of you; since I must 
refer frequently to the same cause operating beyond 
the trade-wind regions, and affecting the more complex 
and variable winds of the temperate zones. 

As the earth performs its daily revolutions, the 
parts of its surface which are nearest to its axis, or 
close to the poles, move slowest; and the parts farthest 
from its axis, or at the equator, move fastest, — just 
as the parts of a revolving wheel, nearest the axle, 
move slowest, and the parts farthest from the axle 
move fastest (the surface at the hub always moving 
slower than the surface at the tire). Accordingly, from 
the poles of the earth to the equator, each succeeding 
point moves faster than the preceding. Hence cur¬ 
rents of air, setting out toward the equator, and par¬ 
taking of the slow motion of the earth’s surface (from 
west to east) at the place whence they started, success¬ 
ively reach places having a swifter motion eastward 
than their own. And, since they cannot at once gain 
the swifter rate of motion, they fall behind to the 
westward. Accordingly the trade winds originating 
near the Tropic of Cancer, and moving toward the 
equator, take, as they fall behind to the westward, a 


134 


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southwesterly course; while those originating near 
the Tropic of Capricorn, and moving toward the 
equator, take, as they in like manner fall behind, a 
northwesterly course. 



POPIC QiF CANCE.1 


PASSAGE. WINDS 


/ * 

/ n.e.tr/de winc/s 

/ 

/ / \ 

/ 

jJ ^EQUATOB^ 

• y 

\ ^ 

S \ \ " 

\ V \ 

L — VtROP'C OFvCAPRicon 

\ 

\ Xj 


In the same way, other winds, originating beyond 
the tropics, either in the temperate or polar regions, 
and moving toward the equator, unless turned aside 
by other causes, pursue a similar course. The law of 
motion which determines their direction is the same 
as that which governs the direction of musket shot, 
when a sportsman shoots sidewise from a wagon mov- 








Storms: Their Origin and Laws of Motion 135 

ing in a certain course, directly at a bird dying faster 
than the wagon goes in the same course, and the shot 
fall behind the bird. 

So, on the other hand, winds blowing from the 
torrid or temperate regions toward the nearest polar 
region, and partaking of the motion (from west to east) 
of the places from which they set out, have a greater 
velocity eastward than the places they successively 
reach; and hence, if undisturbed in their course, 
constantly depart from a north and south line toward 
the east, or are deflected from their western side, thus 
becoming in the northern hemisphere southwest winds, 
and in the southern hemisphere northwest winds. 
These winds prevail to a considerable extent under the 
name of passage winds, in the temperate zones, 
especially in the warmer parts and during the warm 
months. As they advance toward the colder latitudes, 
they incline more and more toward the east, gaining 
at an increasing rate on the motion of the earth’s 
surface from west to east upon its axis, which motion 
lessens in an increasing ratio as we approach the poles. 
This lessening in an increasing ratio, of the motion of 
the surface from west to east, as we go from the 
equator toward the poles, is apparent, if we observe 
that the circumference of the earth on the parallel of 
30° is about 18,700 geographical miles, on that of 40° 
about 16,600, and on that of 50° about 13,900, making 
the decrease in circumference between the parallels of 
30° and 40° not far from eleven per cent, while be¬ 
tween those of 40° and 50° it is about sixteen per cent, 


136 


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or twice as great, in less than half the distance, as the 
ratio of decrease between the equator and the tropics. 
If the northern or southern hemisphere were a mere 
cone, having its apex at the pole where it terminates, 
the decrease from the equator to the pole would be 
in the same ratio throughout; but as it presents a 
hemispherical surface, the falling off is more and more 
rapid, or is in an increasing ratio, as we approach the 
pole. I call atttention particularly to this fact, in 
respect to its influence in deflecting the winds and 
limiting the extent of their range, since I regard it as 
the chief cause of the remarkable diversity of the 
winds originating at different points in the temperate 
regions as contrasted with the comparative uniformity 
of those in the torrid. 

The passage winds seldom move far along the 
earth’s surface without interruption; because, of 
necessity, they progress on converging lines approach¬ 
ing each other more and more rapidly as the breadth 
of the earth’s surface narrows in approaching the 
poles. Hence the currents of air, being thus crowded 
together and rendered more dense, through lateral 
compression against each other — and, therefore, in 
some measure, heaped up — contribute by their greater 
weight to the earlier restoral of the equilibrium, 
the want of which was the primary cause of the 
atmospheric disturbance. The tendency thus to heap 
up, owing to convergence with approach toward the 
polar region, is similar to that in the case of an ocean 
tide compressed between jutting headlands into a 


Storms: Their Origin and Laws of Motion 137 

long tapering inlet — like the tides in the Bay of 
Fundy, which rise more than sixty feet. 

The contrary of these facts is true in respect to the 
return currents, especially those in the upper atmos¬ 
phere, blowing from the colder regions toward the 
tropics. They are deflected in the same manner as 
the trade winds, but with a more abrupt curvature, 
and expand laterally as they advance, soon approach¬ 
ing an equilibrium with the lighter atmosphere of the 
region toward which they move. 

The limited sweep and inconstancy of the winds in 
the cool temperate regions, as compared with the 
broad range and the continual prevalence of the trade- 
winds, while partly due to the cause just mentioned — 
namely, the rapid convergence as we depart from the 
tropics toward the poles, — are also due partly to the 
greater changes of temperature with slight changes of 
latitude, and to the stronger contrasts of the seasons 
in the temperate zones in passing from summer to 
winter and from winter to summer. In the northern 
half of the torrid zone, the mean temperature of July 
in the hottest districts at the level of the sea is about 
90° above zero; and of January in the coldest dis¬ 
tricts, about 70° above, the difference between the 
hottest and coldest thus being only about 20°; but 
in the north temperate zone the mean temperatures, 
similarly contrasted, are approximately 90° above and 
40° below, the difference being the sum of these 
figures, that is, 130°, or between six and seven times 
as great as in the torrid zone. For a considerable 


138 


Variety Papers 


period, therefore, during summer, even the colder 
parts of the temperate zones have an almost tropical 
heat; yet, for a long period in winter, they are icy 
cold. Thus, in Montreal, the summer heat is some¬ 
times almost as oppressive as in New Orleans, although 
in the former the winter's cold is occasionally severe 
enough to freeze mercury, while in the latter it is 
seldom such as to prevent roses blooming in the open 
air. 

These strong contrasts have a marked effect upon 
the atmospheric circulation, causing that of the 
warmer months in the temperate zones to be materi¬ 
ally different from that of the colder, and producing a 
variableness of winds in regions remote from the 
equator which is unknown in the torrid regions. The 
temperate regions, therefore, are often marked, on 
meteorological maps, as Regions of Variable Winds, 
while the torrid are marked as Regions of Constant 
Winds. 

I shall now describe in general terms the winds of 
the temperate zones. The most prevalent are those 
which blow more or less directly from the west — 
coming often, in the warmer latitudes of the north 
temperate zone, from considerably south of west, and 
in those of the south temperate zone, from consider¬ 
ably north of west. The latter currents are generated 
partly in the neighborhood of the trade-wind regions. 
On the outer borders of these regions, it was observed 
long ago that there are comparatively calm belts, 
within which sailing vessels, in many instances, are 








agram showing the meeting of currents of air in the calm belts at the 
tropics, whence the Trade Winds and Passage Winds flow forth. 





Storms: Their Origin and Laws of Motion 139 

detained for weeks together. Near the West Indies, 
the northern calm belt early became known as the 
Horse Latitude; since ships formerly voyaging thither 
from New England with deck loads of horses were 
sometimes becalmed within its limits until obliged by 
want of fresh water for their animals, to throw many 
of them into the sea. The existence of these calm 
belts in the neighborhood of the tropics is believed to 
be due to the meeting of upper currents of air from 
the temperate regions with upper currents from the 
warmer parts of the trade-wind regions, — the oppos¬ 
ing currents neutralizing each other, as they conflict, 
and causing a comparative calm, within which the 
air, being rendered more dense by compression, settles 
down, and from one side of which the trade winds 
blow, and from the opposite side, the passage winds. 
[See diagram, opposite.] Within the calm belts, the 
air is heavier, as shown by the barometric pressure, 
than on either side of these belts; and consequently 
the winds just mentioned are pressed out from be¬ 
neath them, the former toward the equator, and the 
latter toward the cooler latitudes. 

It will be borne in mind that all surface winds blow 
from a region of comparatively heavy atmosphere 
toward a region of lighter atmosphere, the heavy air 
over-balancing the adjacent lighter air, and therefore 
sinking and forcing its way beneath it, thus lifting up 
the lighter air and causing it to flow off overhead. 
The action is the same as would occur in a trough 
divided into two compartments, one filled with oil 


140 


Variety Papers 


and the other with water, if the separating partition 
were suddenly removed. The water would over¬ 
balance the oil, and gradually sinking would force its 
way underneath, and the oil, thus lifted up, would 
rise and spread out over the surface. 

The primary cause which disturbs the equilibrium 
of the atmosphere is, as already indicated, the un¬ 
equal heating and cooling of different parts of the 
aerial ocean. I have already called attention to the 
influence of unequal heating and cooling in different 
latitudes and at different seasons, especially to the 
influence of the striking contrasts of heat and cold in 
regions remote from the equator. But besides this 
influence due to difference in latitude, there are 
also important influences due to local causes; such, 
for instance, as the presence of land in one part and 
water in another (the land surface being more readily 
warmed and cooled by exposure to the sun than the 
water surface), — or the presence of cold mountain 
chains or extensive forest tracts in one region and 
of treeless plains or sandy deserts of but slight ele¬ 
vation, in another, — or the condensation of vapors 
in occasional showers, which always causes local 
warmth. These differences give rise here and there 
to centers of warmth; in the neighborhood of which 
the air becomes rarified, often over extensive tracts, 
causing the inflowing of the cooler and heavier air 
from all sides. 

During the early part of the nineteenth century, the 
attention of the American meteorologist, Professor 


Storms: Their Origin and Laws oj Motion 141 


COURSE OF 






In many places throughout the 
world, as conjectured by Espy. 


THE WINDS 



Here and there in northern hemi¬ 
sphere, as learned by Dove. 



Course of cyclonic whirls in southern 
hemisphere, as discovered by Redtield. 







142 


Variety Papers 


Espy, was especially drawn to this fact; and he was 
led to regard the inflowing air as moving in direct 
radial lines toward the center of the heated districts. 
At a later period, Professor Dove of Berlin discovered, 
by a comparison of simultaneous observations at vari¬ 
ous points on land, that the inflowing is not in radial 
lines, but in somewhat incurving lines gradually 
approaching the heated center. Afterwards Mr. Red- 
field of New York announced to the world his remark¬ 
able discovery that the inflowing of the air toward 
heated centers — which results often in revolving 
storms or cyclones — is not only in incurving lines, 
producing a whirl, but that in the northern hemi¬ 
sphere the whirl is always in a direction contrary to 
that of the hands of a watch laid on its back, and in 
the southern hemisphere is always with the hands of 
a watch. This discovery was made by comparing 
the entries of simultaneous observations, in a great 
number of sailors’ log-books, of the course of the 
winds on different parts of the ocean. It showed the 
existence of a law, the call for an explanation of which 
presented for a long time an unsolved problem. My 
own attention was first drawn to this problem about 
the year 1856, while I was engaged, as a professional 
geographer, in studying the laws of climate, it being 
some time before the publication of my solutions, 
after persevering study, of the two perplexing prob¬ 
lems: why the northern hemisphere, as a whole, is 
warmer than the southern; and why more rain falls 
in the northern hemisphere than in the southern. As 


Storms: Their Origin and Laws of Motion 143 

the result of occasional pondering upon the subject 
during a term of years, the explanation of Redfield’s 
law at last dawned upon me. I stated it to a few 
scientific friends; and subsequently was invited to 
present my theory in a lecture before an educational 
body at Newark, New Jersey. But, being doubtful 
whether I was really the first to arrive at a satis¬ 
factory explanation of Redfield’s law, I declined the 
invitation. Later I learned that Prof. William Ferrel, 
a teacher in Nashville, Tennessee, afterwards con¬ 
nected with the United States Coast and Geodetic 
Survey, had offered a partial explanation (differing 
somewhat, in its mode, from my own) several years 
before, in an article which, it is hardly remarkable, 
had escaped my observation: since it was printed in 
the Nashville Journal of Medicine and Surgery, a 
publication not likely to fall into the hands of many 
persons except practicing physicians; and since I was 
not engaged at that time in scientific pursuits. I 
shall refrain from presenting my explanation until 
I have occasion to speak more at length of 
cyclones. 

The whirls or eddies in the atmosphere, caused by 
heated centers, are very common in the temperate 
zones; and interfere materially with the general 
drift between the tropical and polar regions. All are 
of a cyclonic character; but differ in development, 
according to the relative warmth and extent of the 
heated districts. Their locations vary with the 
changes in local conditions resulting from the fall 


144 


Variety Papers 


of rain or snow, from the cooling influence of over¬ 
shadowing clouds, and from a variety of other 
causes. 

The heated centers have their counterparts or 
offsets in cool centers, from which there is an outflow 
along the surface of the earth, in lines curving out¬ 
wardly, just as with respect to the former there is an 
inflow in lines curving inwardly. 

Accordingly a great part of the air in the temperate 
regions is moving in whirls, developed around warm 
or cool centers, and forming revolving columns or 
whirling disks, with their axes sometimes vertical but 
often slightly inclined, and their bases commonly 
resting upon the surface of the earth. They vary in 
diameter from less than a mile to more than a thou¬ 
sand miles, a single whirl, as represented on some of 
our weather maps, occasionally overspreading a large 
part of the United States, east of the Rocky Moun¬ 
tains. The location of their centers, or of the axes of 
the whirls, sometimes remains nearly stationary; but 
usually moves onward in a curvilinear path, until the 
rotating current has ceased. 

The whirls around the heated centers are called 
cyclones, a name not necessarily indicating, as in 
popular American usage, the violent whirls more spe¬ 
cifically termed hurricanes or tornadoes, but referring 
to the approximately cycloidal course traced by the 
rotating current upon the earth’s surface. 

The whirls around the cold centers are called anti¬ 
cyclones. 


Storms: Their Origin and Laws oj Motion 145 

Secondary whirls are occasionally developed within 
the currents of the larger whirls, but at a considerable 
distance from the centers of the latter, just as second¬ 
ary eddies or small whirlpools are often developed 
within the currents of a larger eddy in the border of a 
river, where it sweeps around a curve. In some in¬ 
stances, they are of little breadth, but are remarkable 
for their violence or intensity. It is the small secondary 
whirls, developed in the currents of larger cyclones 
and revolving with tremendous velocity, which con¬ 
stitute the destructive tornadoes prevalent in certain 
parts of our own country, especially in the Mississippi 
Valley. 

The tendency to a whirling movement, in the rapid 
inflowing of currents of air resulting from intense heat, 
was long ago observed in the burning of cane-brakes 
in the South, and occasionally in the conflagration of 
the dry rank herbage of Western prairies. The flames 
of the cane-brakes often rise in a whirling cone; and 
occasionally, as they spread out above, form an in¬ 
verted truncated cone, the small end of which rests 
upon that of the lower truncated cone, the whole 
column taking a shape similar to that of an old- 
fashioned dice box. 

The small whirls in the atmosphere, resulting from 
terrestial heat, always revolve like the larger ones, 
in the northern hemisphere, in a direction contrary 
to that of the hands of a watch laid on its back, and 
in the southern, with the hands. In a record of more 
than six hundred tornadoes in the United States, not 


146 


Variety Papers 


one was found to have revolved otherwise than against 
the hands of a watch. 

It is further observed that all cyclones or tornadoes 
contain in the middle a comparatively calm region, 
or vortex of nearly still air, corresponding to the 
vortex of a whirlpool; and that they travel (or, in 
other words, their axis of motion advances) in a 
somewhat parabolic path, while their whirling cur¬ 
rents describe an approximately cycloidal path. They 
may be compared to a hollow column, revolving upon 
a nearly vertical axis and at the same time moving 
forward along the earth’s surface. 

Cyclones are usually attended with rain, at least 
for a time, or at intervals, while passing over any 
given point. 

The tendency to rain, accompanying the inflowing 
of air toward heated centers — except in deserts — 
was noticed many years ago. Humboldt remarked 
that volcanic eruptions in the torrid zone, causing 
intense local heat and giving rise to a strong inflow of 
cooler air from all sides, are attended with heavy 
rains even during the dry seasons. Professor Espy 
observed that, in the burning over of considerable 
tracts of dry ground in the South during summer 
droughts, clouds were seen to gather and refreshing 
showers fall, although under ordinary circumstances, 
no interruption of the drought could have been antici¬ 
pated. He, therefore, contended that the artificial 
production of rain was possible. Soon after the pro¬ 
mulgation of his theory, many statements were pub- 


Storms: Their Origin and Laws of Motion 147 

lished, which corroborated his views. Among these 
was a letter from an engineer engaged in Government 
surveys in Florida. The engineer remarked that, 
having occasion to burn over an extensive tract of 
dry rank herbage covering the bed of a saw-grass 
pond from which the water had been exhausted by 
the summer drought, one of his assistants, who had 
read Professor Espy’s theory, called attention to the 
fact that it would be likely to cause rain, and proposed 
to practice upon the credulity of the superstitious 
negroes of their party by making them believe that 
he could cause clouds to gather and pour down a 
shower. Permission for his ruse being granted, he 
requested the men who were reclining on the ground, 
exhausted by the parching heat, unrelieved by a 
breath of air, to cut through the heavy herbage, and 
promised, if they would do so, he would give them a 
plentiful rain and a breeze too, that would wake them 
up. His words w r ere received with derisive laughter, 
whereupon he affected to be very indignant. To 
hasten his victory, the grass was ordered to be set 
on fire. The narrative proceeds substantially as 
follows: — 

The flames ascended forthwith above the tallest 
tree; a dense volume of smoke mounted upwards 
spirally; the grass soon disappeared. As the smoky 
column broke, and a cloud began to form, the captain 
traced a large circle in the sand, and placed himself in 
its center, making fantastic figures, and forming 
cabalistic phrases out of broken French. All eyes 


Variety Papers 


148 


were riveted upon him as at length he began tracing 
outlines of devils. At this juncture, came a roll of 
distant thunder; every glance was instantly turned 
upward, and the cloud was seen spreading. The 
lightning flashed vividly, and the thunder increased. 
The knees of the negroes smote together with alarm. 
Already was the rain descending, and in torrents; 
though the clear sky could be seen in all quarters of 
the heavens except directly overhead. The captain 
maintained his mystical attitude; while some of the 
whites who were in the secret fell upon their knees, 
and were imitated by the negroes, whose fears aug¬ 
menting as the storm grew fiercer, clasped their hands, 
and fastened upon him a stare of awe and deprecation. 
In short, the scene presented a more complete triumph 
of philosophy over ignorance than one would have 
supposed possible in the nineteenth century and in 
our own country. The writer states that the saw- 
grass was often fired afterwards, and that whenever 
there was no wind stirring, there was an unfailing 
certainty of rain, although not a single shower was 
known there at any other time for many weeks. 

Respecting the cause of the whirling movement of 
cyclones in the northern hemisphere, in a direction 
contrary to that of the hands of a watch lying on its 
back, I now call your attention to the fact that, in the 
in-rush of air from all quarters, toward the heated 
center, the currents from farther south — since they 
partake of the eastward motion of the earth's surface 
at the points from which they set out — have (as 


Storms: Their Origin and Laws of Motion 149 

already explained) a faster motion eastward than the 
points at which they arrive, and, therefore, are de¬ 
flected to the eastward of a north and south line, so 
that they blow approximately from the southwest. 
On the contrary, currents from farther north than the 
heated center — since they partake of the eastward 
motion of the earth’s surface in the localities from 
which they set out — have (as before explained) a 
slower motion eastward than the localities at which 
they arrive, and therefore are deflected to the west¬ 
ward of a north and south line, so that they blow 
approximately from the northeast. These northeast 
winds, meeting those before mentioned from the south¬ 
west — since the former have a much less rapid 
motion eastward than do the latter — fall partly 
behind them to the westward, and in so doing, im¬ 
pinge against the latter somewhat obliquely or side- 
wise, in such a manner that each turns the other partly 
around, and thus starts a whirling current which is 
maintained subsequently by the continuous inflowing 
of currents from the northeast and from the southwest 
meeting in like manner. Obviously the turning on 
the western side of the whirl would be in a southerly 
direction, while that on the eastern side would be in 
a northerly direction, — thus causing the revolution 
in a direction contrary to that of the hands of a 
watch laid on its back. 

To illustrate: Let us suppose a rod to be supported 
horizontally by the hands, one above the other, with 
the fingers pressing against it as shown in Figure 1. 


150 


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While thus held, it would be unmoved, or each end of 
the rod would remain at the same height. But if, 
now, the lower hand were slid a little to the right, and 
the upper one a little to the left, as shown in Figure 2, 
and the pressure against the rod were continued as 



Fig. 2 


Fig. 1 


before, the left portion of the rod would be forced 
downward and the right portion upward, and the rod 
would begin to swing around, as upon an imaginary 
pivot, in a direction contrary to that of the hands of 
a watch. And, as long as the fingers maintained the 
same relative position in respect to the rod and con¬ 
tinued to press against it, it would keep moving or 
swinging around in the same direction. 

So winds meeting and pressing toward or against 
each other, along a given line — one current of air 
coming from the southward and veering considerably 
to the right, the other coming from the northward and 
veering still more to the left — would, as they con¬ 
flicted, turn or whirl about just as an immense 




Storms: Their Origin and Laws of Motion 151 

weather vane would, if it were placed between them 
and were long enough to be affected by each side of 
the whirl. 

To illustrate further: The revolving movement of a 
cyclone is started somewhat in the same way as a 
partial whirl is produced when two men, walking 
rapidly in opposite directions, come in collision, each 
striking his left shoulder against the neighboring 
shoulder of the other. As we all probably have ex¬ 
perienced a partial reverse from such a collision, we 
are better prepared to understand the origin of a 
cyclonic whirl, and to realize that, if there were a 
continuance of the force which turned us partly 
around, as there is a continuance of the force of 
steadily blowing winds, we should soon be spinning 
about at an uncomfortable rate. We may remember, 
then, that when a cyclone occurs, the whirl originates 
because two opposite currents of the inflowing winds 
conflict, while edging away from each other sidewise, 
and hitting together their adjacent shoulders. 

In the southern hemisphere, as the conditions in 
respect to the meeting currents of air are precisely 
the reverse of those in the northern, it is plain that 
the whirls would be in the opposite direction. 

The points, just presented, do not appear to be 
brought out in Professor Ferrel’s explanation; al¬ 
though it is not impossible he may have had them 
in mind. 

Understanding now r the origin and direction of the 
whirl of a cyclone, let us consider what produces the 


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vortex, or comparatively calm region in the center. 
Of course the inflowing currents, notwithstanding 
the whirling tendency, move toward the heated center, 
in gradually incurving lines, with a strong centripetal 
force. But, as the velocity of the whirl increases, the 
nearer they approach the center, owing to the shorten¬ 
ing of the radius of revolution, the whirl at length 
acquires such a speed as develops a centrifugal force 
sufficient to overcome or hold in check the opposing 
centripetal. In fact, the centrifugal force becomes so 
great that it causes the revolving air in the vortex of 
the whirl to move outward until the atmosphere in 
the middle is so rarified and becomes so little affected 
by friction with the neighboring air that its whirling 
motion virtually ceases, and there follows a compara¬ 
tive calm. 

It is this deceptive calm, in the midst of cyclones or 
hurricanes, which so often, in former years, misled 
navigators, to their ruin. Their vessels having been 
struck on one side by the advancing whirlwind, and 
the sails trimmed, and the course shaped, so as to 
withstand its fury, a lull ensued, during w r hich the 
frail barque remained idly rocking upon the waves; 
when suddenly it was struck on the opposite side by 
the tempest, thrown perhaps on its beam-ends, and 
left dismasted and dismantled to drift a helpless 
wreck. 

Present knowledge of such storms and of the signs 
preceding them enables navigators, in many instances, 
to sail away to one side or the other of their whirling 


Storms: Their Origin and Laws oj Motion 153 

currents, and thus to escape disaster. They are 
helped, in such avoidance, by acquaintance with what 
is known as Ballot’s law: to wit, If you stand in any 
part of the whirl, with your back to the wind, the area 
of low barometric pressure (which is always found in 
the vortex of the storm) is at the left hand in the 
northern hemisphere, and at the right hand in the 
southern. The reason of this law is apparent on con¬ 
sidering the direction of the whirls in the respective 
hemispheres as before stated. Hence the navigator, 
having determined on which side is the vortex of the 
storm (or the eye of the storm, as it is often called) 
finds it easy, by directing the course of his ship away 
from the vortex, to sail out of the storm. 

Respecting the path of cyclones, or the direction in 
which the axis of the whirling columns or disks ad¬ 
vance, I have already remarked 
that it is approximately in a 
parabolic curve. It may be 
stated further that, in the north 
temperate zone, the path nearly 
always has a decided easterly 
bearing, inclining, in most cases, 
to the northeast, especially on 
the ocean, and acquiring a 
greater easting as it moves on. 

It is said that no storm has ever been found crossing 
the North Atlantic from east to west, or moving 
from our Atlantic coast to the plains beyond the 
Mississippi River. In some instances, however, a 




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storm advances toward the southeast. This occasion¬ 
ally happens in our own country, especially during the 
colder months. Professor Loomis estimated that 
the average direction of the progress of nearly five 
hundred storms in the United States, from 1872 to 
1874, inclusive, was east by 9° north. It is evident 
that the direction of their advance was determined 
by the predominant currents of air flowing into 
the whirl, since it was nearly coincident with that 
of the strongest, as they met in the whirl. Hence 
as the strongest current contributing to a cyclone 
in the north temperate regions comes almost always 
from the southerly side of the whirl — blowing 
toward the northeast — the prevailing direction of 
the cyclone is to the north of east. Of three hundred 
and eighty-four tornadoes reported upon by Sergeant 
Finley, of the United States Signal Corps, three hun¬ 
dred and four moved from southwest to northeast, 
and twenty-one others approximated more or less to 
such a course. 

The reasons why, in the north temperate regions, 
the strongest currents, or those which are most 
influential in determining the pathway of a cyclone, 
come almost always from the southerly side are ns 
follows: 

(1) In the movement of the air from the southerly 
side, or from the lower latitudes toward the higher — 
approximately in the same course as the passage 
winds — there is an increasing tendency to converge 
or crowd together, because of lateral compression, as 


Storms: TJieir Origin and Laws oj Motion 155 

the air advances in the direction of the pole (which is 
a mere point) and thus to become more dense and to 
exert a greater force. 

(2) The passage winds which are prevalent in the 
north temperate zone are somewhat helpful to the in¬ 
flowing currents on the southerly side of a cyclone, 
since they approximate to them in direction, but are 
more or less adverse to the currents from the northerly 
side. 

(3) The currents of air from the southerly side of a 
cyclone in this zone are less hindered by currents in¬ 
flowing toward it from the east and northeast — 
which are somewhat retarded by the passage winds 
— than are the currents from the northerly side by 
those inflowing from the westerly and southwesterly 
sides, which latter are more or less helped by the 
passage winds, and therefore are stronger. 

(4) The currents of air from the southward come 
to a cyclone, in the north temperate zone, more di¬ 
rectly than do those from the northward — being 
less deflected toward the east than the currents from 
the polar side are toward the west, this difference 
being due to the fact that the variation in the distance 
from the axis of the earth of the points on its surface 
over which the currents from the southward come is 
considerably less than such variation is in respect to 
the points over which those from the northward 
come. Hence, as the flow of the currents from the 
southward toward the whirl is more in a direction 
toward the center of the whirl — or approximates 


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more nearly to a meridional line — than is the flow 
of those from the northward, they strike it more 
directly and forcibly, and therefore tend to bear it 
onward in the course in which they are moving and 
against the opposition of the more oblique currents 
from the northward. 

Professor Ferrel attributes the progressive motion of 
cyclones in the north temperate regions chiefly to the 
passage winds: but enters into no details on the sub¬ 
ject; except as it is involved in a discussion of the 
general circulation of the atmosphere. The latter, he 
treats in good part mathematically. 

The parabolic curvature of the path of a cyclone 
on this side of the Tropic of Cancer results from the 
fact that the controlling current which determines its 
course, and which comes from the southerly side, is 
deflected more and more from a north and south line 
as the cyclone advances toward the higher latitudes, 
the deflection being in an increasing ratio as the part 
of the earth's surface over which it is passing inclines 
more and more toward the pole and thus approaches 
nearer and nearer, in an increasing ratio, to the 
earth’s axis. 

The rate of progress of a revolving storm along its 
pathway in the north temperate zone varies from 
almost nothing to sixty or seventy miles an hour. 
The distance from St. Louis to New York, which is 
not far from 900 miles in a straight line, is commonly 
traversed in about thirty-six hours. But while the 
axis of the storm advances at a mean of from twenty- 


Storm*: Their Origin and Laws oj Motion 157 

five to thirty miles an hour, or at about the speed of 
an ordinary railroad-express train, the velocity of the 
whirl, especially near the middle of the storm, may 
greatly exceed this. In a brisk gale, it is about fifty 
miles an hour; and, in a hurricane, one hundred or 
more. 

The area of the whirl, as it moves along its path in 
this zone, approximates to an oval shape, being 
longest generally from southwest to northeast; since 
the predominating force of the current from the south¬ 
ward, which is the strongest current pouring into the 
cyclonic pool, and which bears it along, is always 
sufficient to stretch it out lengthwise. It is narrowest 
from side to side when it travels fast, that is, when 
the elongating force, or force that bears it along, is 
greatest. At the center of the storm, the barometer 
sometimes sinks an inch. 

The place of highest barometer and of greatest 
force in the revolving current is not far from midway 
in the northeastern part of the whirl; since it is there 
that the controlling current from the southward, 
which determines the pathway of the cyclone, meets 
most forcibly the more oblique current from the 
northward, and gains the mastery, the air at that 
point becoming most dense. 

The question naturally presents itself, Why are 
whirling storms usually attended with rain? It may 
be answered as follows: They are generally well sup¬ 
plied with vapor by the inflowing currents of air on 
one side or another. Thus, in the eastern part of the 


158 


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United States, those which feed the w r hirl on its 
southern and eastern sides are, in most cases, charged 
with vapors from the Gulf of Mexico and the Atlantic. 
As they enter the whirl, the vapor-bearing currents 
mount upward spirally, the inrushing air from all 
sides of the whirling column (the base of which gen¬ 
erally rests upon the surface of the earth) being unable 
to find relief from the compression of the opposing 
currents, except by ascending. Thus the vapors are 
condensed not only by compression within the whirl, 
but by contraction from the cold, as they rise to a 
greater height, and so produce a rainfall. But their 
condensation is promoted chiefly, especially in violent 
storms, by their being pressed together in the parts 
of the cyclone where the centripetal force of the in- 
rushing currents is nearly counterbalanced by the 
centrifugal force of the whirl. Beneath the condensed 
ring resulting from this pressure, the barometer stands 
much higher than in the vortex, or comparatively 
calm region within. 

It is well understood that, in the condensation of 
vapor, heat is always evolved. Hence it is apparent 
that the warmth which causes the continuous in-draft 
of air in cyclones, and thus maintains them for a 
considerable period, while they traverse, perhaps, 
half the breadth of a continent, or nearly cross an 
ocean, is derived largely from the condensation of 
the vapors within their own spirally ascending cur¬ 
rents. The supply of vapor is obtained, as we have 
before noticed, chiefly from the inflowing currents 


Storms: Their Origin and Laws of Motion 1.19 

near the earth’s surface, which take up moisture 
from damp ground or from bodies of water over 
which they pass, and which, being retarded by fric¬ 
tion upon the earth’s surface, have a less rapid whirl¬ 
ing motion, and are less affected by centrifugal force 
than the currents above, and therefore approaching 
nearer to the center of the vortex flow upward 
within the whirl, very much as a current of air flows 
up a heated chimney flue. Of course, there is little 
or no condensation within the vortex, and accord¬ 
ingly little or no rain there. The cyclone, therefore, 
generally forms a nearly horizontal rain-ring, which 
is borne onward in almost all cases by the greater 
force of the inflowing air-currents from the southerly 
side; and thus, as it advances, with the wind blowing 
briskly, pours down copious showers. But, as the 
cyclone progresses, and the forward portion of the 
ring passes a given point, so that this point comes 
within the calm region in the interior, the rain there 
ceases, and there is no rain in the vortex of the storm, 
or in what the officers of the Signal Service Bureau 
term the “ storm center.” The calm, however, is 
succeeded by rising winds in the following half of 
the whirl, which blow from the opposite quarter. 
Hence there is a renewal of the rain, followed by a 
gradual decline of the wind and a corresponding 
abatement of the rain. The storm is over, only when 
the rear of the ring has passed. 

Beyond the cyclone regions, which are always 
areas of low barometer, except beneath the rain rings, 


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we commonly find anticyclone regions, characterized 
by a clear sky, cooler air, high barometer, and little 
wind. The anticyclone is precisely the reverse of the 
cyclone in the direction and character of its currents, 
which flow in from above, bringing little or no moist¬ 
ure, descend spirally, and pass off below in outwardly 
curving lines along the earth’s surface. Within the 
limits of these currents, little or no heat is evolved 
by condensation; and, for this reason, in part, the 
whirl of the anticyclone is never violent. 

Without attempting to discuss the weather charac¬ 
teristics of regions intermediate between cyclones and 
anticyclones, but merely referring to a few of the 
facts just explained, we are prepared to understand 
the significance of such reports from the Signal Serv¬ 
ice Bureau as the following: “ The New England 
coast, Northern Montana and Northwestern Utah 
were areas of storm centers last evening. The baro¬ 
metric pressure was high in the Mississippi Valley. 
It was cloudy throughout New England.” Predic¬ 
tions: “ For Maine and New Hampshire, light rains, 
followed by fair colder northwesterly wind. For Mas¬ 
sachusetts, Rhode Island and Connecticut; colder, 
fair, preceded by rain on the coast; northwesterly 
winds.” 

Before dismissing the subject of rotary storms, it is 
proper to give some attention to those of a violent 
character, especially to such as occur in our own 
country. I have already spoken of the latter as 
smaller secondary whirls developed in the currents of 


Storms: Their Origin and Laws oj Motion 161 

larger cyclones and revolving with tremendous ve¬ 
locity. They may be distinguished from ordinary 
cyclones, as hurricanes. It has been remarked that 
— within the United States — “ where most fully 
studied, they seem to occur along the contact line of 
warm southerly winds and cooler northwesterly or 
westerly winds.” In no part of the temperate zones, 
probably, are they so frequent as in the Mississippi 
Valley and in our Southern States. 

The whirl begins generally at a height in the 
atmosphere, where the winds are free from obstruc¬ 
tion, and gradually extends downward, partly by 
frictional action upon the air below, and partly by 
the circling inflow 7 of the lower and cooler strata of 
air into the warm funnel-like vortex. All the inflow¬ 
ing currents take a gyratory movement. As the hurri¬ 
cane develops, a tunnel-shaped cloud is generally 
formed, of the most ominous character, its vapors 
being rolled together in frightful agitation. As the 
vapor increases, the cloud descends, sometimes pre¬ 
senting a long spout or trunk swaying to and fro in a 
threatening manner. The roar of the approaching 
tempest is terrific. Striking the earth, it moves along 
a pathway varying in breadth from two or three rods 
to nearly two miles; and is more or less sinuous or 
zigzag in its course, according to the fitfulness of the 
inflowing currents of air from the different sides and 
to its deflections by occasional obstacles. The mean 
breadth of a large number of such paths is estimated 
at a fifth of a mile; the average length, at a little 


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more than twenty-eight, miles. There are instances in 
the United States of a tornado pursuing a destructive 
path, two hundred and fifty miles long. The rate of 
progress, as before stated, is about thirty miles an 
hour. Sergeant Finley estimates the average velocity 
of the whirl at nearly four himdred miles an hour; 
and thinks that in some cases the speed attained is 
not less than eight hundred miles an hour. Others 
estimate the maximum speed in rare instances at not 
less than two thousand miles an hour, or approxi¬ 
mating to that of an ordinary cannon shot. But 
this could occur only in cases of extreme shortness in 
the radius of the whirl. Remembering that a velocity 
of only ninety miles an hour is sufficient to strip the 
sails from a ship, we can readily understand the 
tremendous destructive force of hurricanes. 

In the spring of 1880,1 was in Indianapolis, when a 
hurricane swept over the city. It occurred about 
eleven o’clock in the evening, and, although my 
lodgings were nearly a mile from its destructive path, 
I was startled by the roar. The next morning, I 
visited the scene of wreck. One of the first objects 
that met my view was a fine mansion-house, from the 
tower of which a capstone weighing probably a ton 
had been torn from its cemented bed and dashed down 
through the roof of the porte-cochere. Nearby, I saw 
an iron fence, rent from its fastenings, and the 
wrought-iron rails which supported the palings 
twisted into the shape of a letter S. Passing through a 
grove of oaks not far distant, it seemed as if Titans 


Storms: Their Origin and Laws of Motion 163 

had been struggling in their midst. Many of the trees 
were torn up by the roots — the spirally ascending 
current, near the vortex of the whirl, catching them 
beneath the branches and lifting and twisting them 
from the earth — whence they were carried along a 
considerable distance. Others, with trunks about two 
feet in diameter, were completely twisted off, the 
splinters at the tops of the stumps plainly showing the 
direction of the whirl by which they had been broken. 
Many shattered and unroofed houses were seen, as I 
walked on; and, at one point, I noticed a strongly 
framed church edifice which had been moved bodily, 
about four feet, along its foundations. Among the 
most striking wrecks, was a brick house, nearly half 
the corner of which, to a depth of three or four feet, 
had been blown out, or dashed away by flying tim¬ 
bers. A few rods off, I observed another, the blank 
end-wall of which had been pierced through and 
through with flying timbers, being riddled as if by 
cannon shots. Some of the timbers were still sticking 
in the wall. But among all I saw, nothing impressed 
me more, as showing the tremendous power of the 
wind, than a thin splinter of shingle, weighing hardly 
a pennyweight, the blunt end of which had penetrated 
the edge of a wooden fence paling obliquely to a depth 
of three-eighths of an inch. Had it been shot from a 
musket, it could hardly have sunk deeper. 

Similar instances are recorded of like power in 
other whirlwinds; as, for example, in the shooting of a 
corn-stalk partly through a door, and the driving of 


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nails, head first, firmly into a plank. A tornado that 
swept over East St. Louis, not many years ago, is 
reported to have lifted a twenty-ton passenger loco¬ 
motive from the track, and hurled it into a neighbor¬ 
ing ditch. Harnesses have been torn from horses, 
chickens often stripped of their feathers and swept 
away like chaff, and men and beasts lifted up and 
carried a long distance before the wind. 

It is remarkable that the tornado I have mentioned, 
in Indianapolis, was not destructive of a single life, 
although a few persons were slightly injured. In one 
that passed over Marshfield, Missouri, about the same 
date, over two hundred buildings were demolished, 
sixty-five persons killed, and more than two hundred 
wounded. 

If the question be asked, how can a whirlwind exert 
such prodigious force? it must be answered: Only by 
the tremendous velocity of the whirl and the great 
condensation of the air when driven at such a rate 
and violently compressed between strong centripetal 
and centrifugal forces, until it becomes nearly as 
dense as the gases formed by the explosion of powder 
in a gun. The velocity results from the extreme short¬ 
ening of the radius of the whirl, it being a well-known 
law that when a whirling body is drawn toward the 
center about which it swings, the rate of rotation, if 
unimpeded, will increase in the same proportion as the 
radius of rotation is shortened. To illustrate this 
point: Take a key, tied to the end of a string about 
half a yard long, and with one hand swing it around 


Storms: Their Origin and Laws of Motion 165 

in a horizontal plane until it acquires a moderate 
velocity; then, lifting a finger of the other hand, inter¬ 
cept the progress of the string about midway, and 
instantly the speed of the revolution will be nearly 
doubled. It is also a law that the centrifugal force 
will increase in a ratio corresponding to the square of 
the velocity. 

Destructive tornadoes are attended with violent 
washing rains and hail — occasionally denuding the 
face of the ground of a great part of its herbage. 

They prevail chiefly during the latter part of after¬ 
noons in the warm months, and are not uncommon 
in the middle portions of the Mississippi Valley. 

It should not be understood, from what has been 
said, that rains occur only with rotary storms. They 
originate often with other movements of the atmos¬ 
phere which give rise to ascending currents of vapor¬ 
laden air. This is especially the case when moist 
winds pass over mountain regions, their vapors being 
transformed into clouds, and precipitated on reaching 
a chilling height. 

Would time permit, I should be glad to speak of 
the divine wisdom which is manifest in the control of 
storms, notwithstanding their occasional destructive¬ 
ness, and in the distribution of the rains. Suffice it 
to say that the student of meteorology is almost 
inevitably led to look through Nature up to Nature’s 
God, and sometimes to feel a thrill of profound emo¬ 
tion, such as is expressed in Montgomery’s lofty hymn 
of praise: — 


Variety Payers 


106 


“ The Lord, our God, is full of might; 
The winds obey his will; 

He speaks, and in his sovereign height, 
The rolling sun stands still. 

“ His voice sublime is heard afar, 

In distant peals it dies; 

He yokes the whirlwind to his car, 

And sweeps the howling skies/' 








The Rose-breasted Grosbeak 




VII 


A GLIMPSE OF THE FEATHERED TRIBES 

How gladly in childhood we welcomed the coming of 
the feathered songsters in spring; with what delight 
did we listen to the first notes of the robin and the 
bluebird! What pleasure we found in these charming 
sylphs of the air during their season of mating and of 
nest building! How we rejoiced, if a few venturesome 
birds made their homes in the trees of our dooryard, 
or beneath the shelter of the neighboring barn! If, 
perchance, a gold robin hung his lightly swaying nest 
near by, and we saw the flashing of his bright plumage 
as he flew to and fro, and heard his melodious notes, 
how close at hand seemed fairyland! 

No branch of natural history, perhaps, is so at¬ 
tractive to us, from youth to age, as that relating to 
birds — 

“ Birds, the free tenants of land, air, and ocean, — 
Their forms all symmetry, their motions grace, — 

In plumage, delicate and beautiful.” 

Birds constitute one of the four classes which make 
up that department of the animal kingdom known as 
vertebrates, or animals having a backbone. Accord¬ 
ing to their rank, these classes are, (1) mammals, or 
animals which suckle their young; (2) birds, (3) 
reptiles, (4) fishes. 

But, although birds are vertebrates, no portions of 


167 


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their spinal columns, except the neck, are flexibly 
jointed, like those of the three other classes. 

In general, their bony framework is characterized 
by its lightness — the bones being hollow to a much 
greater extent than in quadrupeds — and the flat 
bones, of a peculiar cellular structure. The lightness 
is needful, that the body may be easily borne upon 
the wings. 

In those which are much given to flight, Nature 
provides for lightness by making nearly all the 
muscles, except such as are used when on the wing, 
comparatively small. Hence most of their flesh is 
about the breast and in the immediate neighbor¬ 
hood of the wings. This is very noticeable in 
pigeons. 

Birds are capable of receiving a great quantity of 
air in breathing. The air is not restricted to the lungs, 
but passes through, into membranous cells occupy¬ 
ing a large part of the chest and abdomen. It pene¬ 
trates even the tubular openings of the bones and is 
diffused through their cellular structure. 

Rapid motion, such as occurs in flight, retards 
breatiling, or, as we sometimes say, “ takes away the 
breath.’' It is plain, therefore, that ample space for 
the storage of air, in the bodies of birds which are 
much upon the wing, is needful for the proper oxidiza¬ 
tion of their blood during prolonged flight. The im¬ 
portance of this is manifest when we consider their 
speed and the distances they cover. A species of 
swift, akin to our chimney swallow, flies, it is said, two 


A Glimpse of the Feathered Tribes 169 

hundred and fifty miles an hour, or with a velocity 
eight or nine times as great as that of most express 
trains on our railroads. Were it possible for such a 
flight to be continued twelve hours, it would carry the 
bird across the Atlantic. If a man were struck by a 
wind moving at half this speed, he would be dashed 
violently to the ground. 

We may have wondered sometimes at birds floating 
so long in the air, without a fanning movement of the 
wings. The momentum of their recent flight bears 
them along; and the widespread wings, being tipped 
downward in the rear, meet the air obliquely, and, by 
deflecting it, exert a lifting force equal to that of 
gravitation. If, in floating, a bird tips his wings 
farther downward in the rear, he rises; if less, he 
sinks; if struck by an opposing gust of wind, he is 
suddenly raised; or, if met by a gust obliquely, he is 
turned to one side. Yet, if one diligently watches 
birds on the wing, he soon finds there are mysteries of 
flight he cannot explain. 

The capacity of some birds for inhaling and forcibly 
exhaling a great volume of air explains in part their 
phenomenal strength of voice. The notes of a nightin¬ 
gale are heard farther than the music of the human 
voice, and the call of a crow farther than the bellowing 
of an ox. Even the cry of an ostrich is as resonant as 
the roar of a lion. But the vocal power of birds is 
peculiarly augmented by the breadth and strength of 
the windpipe and by an ample cavity at its base, the 
walls of which are remarkably vibratory. 


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The beauty of birds consists largely in the richness 
of their plumage — the varied and exquisite tints of 
which, in multitudinous species, are almost beyond 
conception. Not only is the coloring delicately shaded 
and harmonious, showing admirable contrasts of the 
brighter hues with those that are quiet and subdued, 
but occasionally there is a metallic luster of unusual 
splendor. This luster is particularly noticeable in 
many tropical species, especially in the humming 
bird and pheasant families. We see it in our barn 
fowls and domestic pigeons, and admire it in the eye- 
spots of the peacock’s plumes. 

But the most gorgeous coloring is seen in well- 
watered parts of the globe where light and heat are 
most intense, or where the sunbeams paint plumage 
and flowers alike with their brightest hues. How 
amazing is the variety of colors in birds — scarlet, 
gold, azure, purple, crimson, pearly white, roseate 
pink, vivid green, and shining black, commingling and 
mellowing into each other in the most delightful com¬ 
binations! And how beautifully, too, does Nature 
distribute the coloring — in bands, stripes, patches, 
dots, circles, wavelets, and specks — with perfect 
freedom from stiffness of outlines! 

Tropical South America and the East India Islands, 
glowing beneath the rays of an almost vertical sun, 
are, beyond comparison, the paradises of the feathered 
tribes. Yet Nature, in her endowment of the birds, 
as in other gifts, has her compensations; for what 
they gain in beauty of plumage, they generally lose 


A Glimpse of the Feathered Tribes 171 

in sweetness of song. Only in the temperate zones 
do we hear the most melodious notes. 

Birds of some species are most beautiful when on 
the wing; since then they display brilliant colors 
which at other times are hidden beneath their pinions. 
The varying light and shade, as they fan their way 
through the air, now rising, now falling, now turning 
hither and thither, gives an exquisite variety other¬ 
wise impossible. In the tropical regions, where birds 
often move in flocks, they sometimes descend upon 
the trees or the ground like a floral shower. 

In a majority of species, the male bird is most 
brilliant; but in some, his superiority disappears 
soon after the season of mating and rearing the 
young. 

The character of the plumage, as respects texture, 
density, etc., varies according to climate and modes 
of life. In birds which are incapable of flight, as, for 
instance, the ostrich and penguin, the feathery cover¬ 
ing is imperfectly developed, and, in part, resembles 
the hairy coats of certain quadrupeds. Aquatic 
birds are closely feathered; and have posterior 
glands secreting abundantly an oily substance with 
which they anoint their plumage, to prevent its wet¬ 
ting through. Nearly all such birds have a glossy 
coating. Some have feathers suggestive of the furry 
coats of the otter and seal; many, in cold climates, 
are clothed with a layer of down, next the skin, 
which is especially thick about the breast, where, 
but for its presence, there would be a liability, in 


172 


Variety Papers 


rapid swimming, that the water would be forced 
through the protecting covering so as to chill the 
bird. 

All birds have oil glands, with the secretions of 
which they smear their plumage to preserve its 
luster and softness and protect it against the rain. 

Some of the feathers serve a useful purpose beyond 
that of clothing. In the wings and tail, they are 
elongated and many take on the well-known quill 
form and overlap each other in such a manner as to 
be helpful in propelling or sustaining and guiding the 
body in flight. The larger feathers, which thus co¬ 
operate, interlock at the sides, by means of regular 
rows of slender hair-like teeth, and thus oppose a 
stronger resistance to the air. 

Some birds, remarkable for their powers of flight, 
are able to inflate the tubular bodies of their quills 
so as to increase their internal air-supply when long 
on the wing. By means of such inflation, the erectile 
crests of certain birds are uplifted at pleasure, en¬ 
hancing their beauty and giving to them a peculiarly 
sprightly appearance. 

The long tail-feathers of the woodpecker family 
and of certain other birds which are known as climbers 
are pointed at the lower ends with sharp homy tips 
which help to sustain the bird in a vertical position 
as he clings to the side of a tree. These points are 
particularly useful in upholding and steadying the 
woodpecker while he pecks his hole in a decayed 
tree-trunk. 


A Glimpse of the Feathered Tribes 173 

In general, birds shed their feathers once a year; 
some, twice a year, especially certain male birds 
which are more gaily plumaged than their mates, and 
which seemingly are obliged to tone down a little 
within a few months after the beginning of their 
matrimonial relations. 

The senses of the feathered tribes differ materially 
in acuteness from those of man and of the quadrupeds. 
It is believed by many naturalists that birds are 
without the sense of touch; and it is admitted by all 
that their sense of taste is imperfect and perhaps, in 
some instances, totally wanting. Except in those 
that feed on flesh, the tongue and palate are hard or 
nearly cartilaginous. They swallow without mastica¬ 
tion and seemingly with no perception of flavor. Yet 
it is possible that, during the process which the food 
undergoes in the first stomach or crop, there is a 
sensation akin to taste. 

Especially is the sense of smell in birds much infe¬ 
rior to that in quadrupeds. It was formerly supposed 
that the scent of the vulture was remarkably acute, 
and that he was guided by it in detecting the presence 
of decaying carcasses; but it is now known that he 
cannot smell even carrion through the crevices of a 
wicker basket containing it, although the noisome 
odor may be as manifest to human nostrils as when 
the flesh is exposed in the open air. 

But, on the other hand, the vulture’s sight is tele¬ 
scopic. From the heights to which he soars, beyond 
the reach of the naked eye, he clearly sees, stretched 


174 


Variely Papers 


upon the earth, such objects as will afford him an 
agreeable repast; and 

“ Coming from the invisible ether, 

First a speck and then a vulture,” 

he descends upon his foul prey and gorges himself 
with the loathsome flesh. 

Many other birds possess telescopic sight, and 
nearly all are remarkable for their strength of vision. 
The sparrow-hawk sees a small bird upon the ground 
twenty times as far away as it can be seen by a man 
or a dog. The rapacious kite, from an altitude nearly 
equal to that reached by the vulture, discerns a lizard 
or field mouse below, and drops down upon it in a 
nearly perpendicular line. 

This acuteness of vision is highly serviceable in 
insectiverous birds, especially such as the night- 
hawks, which seek their prey during the hours of 
- darkness. 

The sense of hearing in birds is superior to that in 
quadrupeds, and is scarcely excelled by that of the 
human ear. This fact is shown by the readiness with 
which many catch and repeat the most varied tones. 
The parrot and mocking-bird are not alone in such 
quickness. 

I well remember, in my childhood, a parrot be¬ 
longing to a seamstress who was in the habit of sing¬ 
ing as she sat by her window, plying her needle. 
Often, as I passed, I heard the parrot accompanying 
her in her songs; and sometimes, independent of his 


A Glimpse of the Feathered Tribes 175 

mistress, repeating several tunes with facility and 
correctness. 

Unlike mammals, birds are incapable of bringing 
forth living offspring, but produce their young only 
from eggs which are deposited from the body and sub¬ 
sequently hatched. As a group, therefore, they are 
termed oviparous creatures, in contradistinction to 
those which bear living offspring, and which are 
called viviparous. 

It was once stated, as an established principle of 
natural history, that u all life is from the egg”; but 
it is now thought to be otherwise with infusoria of a 
primitive type that are one-celled and protoplasmic. 
In the case of birds, the process of development 
from the egg is easily observable; since individual 
eggs can be broken and examined at different stages 
of hatching. By such inspection, the foundations 
of the science of embryology were long ago laid — a 
science of the utmost value in determining the true 
classification of animals according to their rank. 

The study of embryology has shown, for instance, 
that there is a common structure of the primitive 
egg in all vertebrated animals; and that, in the pro¬ 
cess of development from this structure, various 
metamorphoses occur, from the lower forms of verte¬ 
brate life to the higher. In the hatching of birds’ 
eggs, it has been found, there is a gradual progression 
from the primitive embryo through a fish-like struc¬ 
ture and then a reptile-like structure before the 
bird form is attained. 


17G 


Variety Paper* 


Professor Agassiz pointed out that what are to 
become the legs and wings of the bird are first formed, 
within the egg, as fins; also that what are to become 
the heart and lungs are first formed much like the 
organs which perform a similar office in the fish. He 
likewise directed attention to the fact that, in the 
hatching of the eggs of birds that are classed as 
insessores , or perchers (which, in the opinion of many 
naturalists, constitute the highest order of the feath¬ 
ered tribes), there is a stage of development akin to 
that of a much lower family, namely, swimming birds, 
or birds which have webbed feet, suggestive of the 
webbed fins of fishes. 

Scientists of the present day refer to such facts as 
in a measure confirmatory of the theory of evolution. 

Birds have been variously classified according to 
their structure and habits. Most of the classifications 
have reference especially to the beak, legs and feet. 
One of the simplest divides them into four orders, 
viz., perchers, climbers, waders, and swimmers. An¬ 
other, which has been much used by British ornitholo¬ 
gists, divides them into five orders, to wit: (1) inses¬ 
sores, that is, perchers, or those having prehensile 
feet suitable for clinging to the limbs and twigs of 
trees to afford them support, as the sparrow and 
robin, — (2) raploreSj or rapacious birds, which have 
retractile claws capable of seizing or snatching their 
prey, as the hawk and eagle, — (3) natatores, or 
swimming birds, which have webbed feet and gener¬ 
ally legs of moderate length, as the duck and goose, — 


A Glimpse of the Feathered Tribe w 177 

(4) grallatores, or waders, which in most instances 
have partially webbed feet and long legs, also pro¬ 
longed jaws, as the stilted plover and crane, — (5) 
rasores , or scratchers, with feet especially fit for 
walking and scratching, as the pigeon and common 
barn-fowl. 

Recent American writers, however, prefer a sub¬ 
division into ten orders. But a description of these, 
within the limits of the present paper, is hardly 
practicable. 

Orders are divided into families, and families into 
genera and species. Some of the orders also are di¬ 
vided into sub-orders; and a few families, into sub¬ 
families. The whole number of species of birds is 
probably about six thousand. 

In the classification of birds by Elliott Coues, one 
of our most intelligent writers on the feathered tribes 
of North America, the order, passeres (which is nearly 
correspondent to the insessores or perchers of British 
ornithologists) is subdivided into oscines , or singing 
birds, and clamatores, or those which are noisy and 
unmelodious. 

The singing birds are placed by most writers at the 
head of the feathered tribes. Professor Newton, of 
the University of Cambridge, England, — following 
other ornithologists of distinction, — maintains that 
the corrida?,, or crow family (which are classed with 
singing birds, although unmusical), are entitled to the 
first rank; and that, of this family, the Northern Raven 
is the foremost. Professor Parker, whom he quotes, 


J 78 


Variety Papers 


says: “ The crow is the great sub-rational chief of the 
whole kingdom of the birds; lie lias the largest brain, 
the most wit and wisdom. ... As that speaking, 
singing, mocking animal, man, is the culmination of 
the mammalian series, so that bird in which the gifts 
of speech, song, and mockery are combined must be 
considered as the top and crown of the bird-class.” 
The learned professor doubtless had in mind the 
qualities of the crow which are made conspicuous in 
Poe's poem of “ The Raven.” 

“ Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, 

Thou, I said, art sure no craven; 

Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, 

Wandering from the nightly shore, — 

Tell me what th v lordly name is 
On the night’s Plutonian shore! 

Quoth the raven, Nevermore.” 

The northern raven is rare in New England, al¬ 
though occasionally seen along our coast. He closely 
resembles the common crow, but is somewhat larger. 
It has been said that he is “ preeminent in the list of 
sinister birds, or those whose only premonition is the 
announcing of misfortunes ”; that he was invoked by 
our Southern aborigines; and that the natives along 
the Missouri River, who assume black as their emblem 
of war, decorate themselves with his plumes when 
preparing for strife. 

Linnaeus remarks that, in southern Sweden, “ when 
the sky is serene, the raven flies very high, and utters a 
hollow sound — like the word clong —which is heard to 


A Glimpse oj the Feathered Tribes 179 

a great distance; sometimes he has been seen in the 
midst of a thunder storm with the electric fire stream¬ 
ing from the extremity of his bill — a natural though 
extraordinary phenomenon, sufficient to terrify the 
superstitious and to stamp the harmless subject of 
it with the imaginary traits and attributes of a 
demon.” 

Among our American songsters, the thrush family 
stands at the head. 

The mocking-bird, which is the most wonderful of 
this family, is unrivaled in the whole wide world for 
variety, brilliancy and sweetness of notes. He is not 
merely an imitator (wonderful as we know his imita¬ 
tive capacity to be); but has a marvelous and superb 
range of his own exquisite song, in comparison with 
which the notes of the English nightingale are a plain 
and simple lay. The mocking-bird is a trifle larger 
than our common robin, and is attired merely in 
ashen gray, marked with white. 

Among New England birds, the wood thrush is the 
sweetest songster. I shall never forget my delight 
when, on my way, in boyhood, at morning or evening, 
to or from the cattle pasture, I heard his prolonged 
plaintive whistle coming from the depths of the solemn 
woods. It was like a strain from the heavenly sphere. 
Often I wandered into the thicket, hoping to catch a 
glimpse of him; but seldom was I rewarded; for he is 
very retiring in his habits. At my first sight of this 
simple brown bird — white beneath, with dusky 
spots — I could hardly believe that such celestial 


180 Variety Papers 

melody could come from a little being, so plain, so shy 
and so humble. 

The hermit thrush is scarcely inferior to the wood 
thrush in sweetness of notes. 

But of all the merry song-birds which visit us, the 
bobolink is easily the chief. He pours forth an irresist¬ 
ible flood of laughing, liquid melody; and, as he wings 
his way from tree to bush, uttering his prolonged 
warble, his throat trembles and swells almost to burst¬ 
ing. Yet only the male bird is tuneful; and, after the 
season of incubation is past, and the nestlings begin to 
spread their wings, his song grows less frequent, and, 
early in July, is hushed. At the same time, he begins 
to lay aside his nuptial or pied dress, and take on a 
simple plumage similar to that of the female. Near 
the middle of August, he sets out for the South, where 
he fattens on wild rice along the river-borders, and, 
under the name of the reed-bird or rice-bird, becomes 
a favorite game for the sportsman. The poet, Bryant, 
has well described him: — 

“ Robert of Lincoln is gayly dressed, 

Wearing a bright black wedding coat : 

White are his shoulders, and white his crest; 

Hear him call, in his merry note, 

Bob-o-link, bob-o’-link, 

Spink, spank, spink, — 

Look, what a nice new coat is mine, 

Sure there was never a bird so fine, — 

Chee, chee, chee. 

** Robert of Lincoln’s Quaker wife, 

Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, 


A Glimpse of the Feathered Tribes 


181 


Passing, at home, a patient life, 

Broods in the grass while her husband sings 
Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link, 

Spink, spank, spink; 

Brood, kind creature, you need not fear 
Thieves and robbers while I am here, — 

Chee, chee, chee. 

*••••»•»# 

“ Robert of Lincoln at length is made 
Sober with work and silent with care; 

Off is his holiday garment laid, — 

Half-forgotten that merry air, 

Bob-o-link, bob-o’-link, 

Spink, spank, spink. 

• •« (••••• 

“ Summer wanes, the children are grown; 

Fun and frolic no more he knows; 

Robert of Lincoln’s a humdrum crone: 

Off he flies; and we sing, as he goes, 

Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link, 

Spink, spank, spink, — 

When you can pipe that merry old strain, 

Robert of Lincoln, come back again.” 

We must not forget the meadow lark as one of our 
most charming songsters. When the morning sun 
shoots his glittering shafts across the dewy meads, 
scattering myriad diamonds in his path, and the fra¬ 
grant breath of newborn day is wafted through our 
chamber windows, we hear his joyful lay, and, looking 
out, we see him rising on swift wing and pouring forth 
such a hymn of praise as only the God of all things can 
inspire in the heart of a happy bird. The meadow 
lark is not less beautiful than tuneful and vivacious. 


182 


Variety Payers 


One other song-bird we delight to hear is the little 
chickadee, as he comes in flocks to our dooryards in 
winter. His cheerful notes remind us that earth’s 
snowy mantle is not a winding sheet for all Nature, 
but that there lingers in her coverts many a happy 
creature, ready, with the first touch of returning 
warmth, to bring new life to our familiar haunts. 

Among other birds, of cheerful notes, which we 
rejoice to behold as summer invites us abroad, are a 
few that linger in sylvan retreats, as the ruby- 
crowned wren, and others which occasionally display 
their attractive plumage beyond the woodlands — as 
the yellow or thistle bird, the indigo bird, the rose¬ 
breasted grosbeak, the cardinal grosbeak, the scarlet 
tanager, and the red-winged blackbird. 

Bidding adieu now to the song-birds, I may mention 
a few of various species which especially interest us 
by their sprightliness, their lovely plumage, their 
impressive mien, or their peculiar habits. 

Among the most charming are the little humming 
birds, so tiny and so fairylike that they seem to belong 
almost to a spiritual realm. Tropical America is 
peculiarly the land of the humming bird, containing 
nearly four hundred species. But few, on the other 
hand, are found in cooler climates. Of these, the best 
known, perhaps, in the United States are the ruby- 
throated and the rufus. The smallest of all the hum¬ 
ming-bird family is about the size of a humblebee; 
and its egg, hardly larger than a pinhead. How 
eagerly do we watch these dainty creatures as, borne 


The Chickadee 












A Glimpse oj the Feathered Tribes 183 

on whirring wings, they thrust their cleft tubular 
tongues into the honey cups of the flowers! So 
swiftly do they dart to and fro, that they seem little 
else than flitting gleams of misty light. 

A word about our chimney swallows. They are 
marvelously swift on the wing, and we wonder, as we 
see them gather in flocks and seek their sooty habita¬ 
tions, that they can be content with such dwellings. 
But their natural home is in the hollow trunks of 
decayed standing trees. It is astonishing how many 
will gather in a single trunk. 

Audubon tells of a colony which inhabited a large 
hollow sycamore, near Louisville, Kentucky. He 
says: “ I rose early enough to reach the place long 
before the least appearance of daylight, and placed 
my head against the tree. All was silent within. I 
remained in that position probably twenty minutes, 
when suddenly I thought the great tree was giving 
away, and coming down upon me. Instinctively I 
sprang from it, but, when I looked up, . . . what was 
my astonishment to see it standing as firm as ever. 
The swallows were now pouring out in a black con¬ 
tinued stream. I ran back to my post, and listened in 
amazement to the noise within, which I could compare 
to nothing else than the sound of a large wheel re¬ 
volving under a powerful stream. It was yet dusky, 
so that I could hardly see the hour on my watch; but 
I estimated the time which they took in getting out 
at more than thirty minutes. After their departure, 
no noise was heard within, and they dispersed in every 


184 


Variety Papers 


direction with the quickness of thought.” He esti¬ 
mated their number at not less than nine thousand. 

Chimney swallows, it is said — although the state¬ 
ment may be questionable — never rest except in 
their dark nesting places — to the walls of which they 
cling, partly supported by their stiff tails. On 
entering a chimney, they fall boldly, head foremost. 
A few years ago, a colony of such swallows resorted 
to an unused chimney in a house near where I live. 
Some time later, a smoldering fire was lighted on the 
hearth, and, as a result, many of the poor birds were 
stifled with the smoke. Nearly a bushel of their little 
bodies is said to have been gathered up and carried 
away. 

Among our prettiest and sauciest summer visitors 
is the cherry-bird, or wax-wing. His smooth yellow¬ 
ish-brown plumage, his black-barred forehead, his 
long pointed crest and his yellow-tipped tail give him 
a strikingly trim and dashing appearance. He is a 
voracious feeder. I have seen him gorge himself with 
mountain-ash berries till he tumbled on his side and 
his crop ejected them. Yet he returned immediately 
to the tree and ate again to surfeit. 

A curious member of the shrike family, often seen 
in New England, is the butcher bird. He is so-called 
from his habit of impaling insects on thorns, and 
leaving them for a future repast. He is a bold bird; 
and, although scarcely larger than the robin, often 
attacks and destroys smaller members of the feathered 
tribes. In defense of his young, after they have learned 


A Glimpse of the Feathered Tribes 185 

to fly, he even attacks the hawk and the eagle with 
such fury as to drive them away. 

Of the finch family — to which the yellow bird, 
indigo bird, purple linnet and grosbeak belong — the 
red cross-bill deserves special mention. He has a 
scissors-like beak which is peculiarly useful in dividing 
seeds and other hard substances on which he feeds. 

The finch family are like a bright floral group among 
our more somber birds — rich with crimson, scarlet, 
rose, blue, purple, yellow, brown, ashen grey, white 
and black. The crested red-bird, or cardinal grosbeak, 
is the most striking member of the family, and is 
beautiful, both in dress and in song. 

Perhaps the most mischievous bird in New England 
is the blue-jay. He belongs, notwithstanding his 
attractive plumage and showy crest, to the same 
family as the crow, and evinces a similar intelligence. 
So capable is he of mimicry that he can be taught to 
talk. The blue-jay is a general disturber of the peace. 
He destroys the eggs of other birds, kills their young, 
worries owls when blinded by the glare of day, teases 
hawks, and often scatters small birds by imitating the 
cries of their rapacious enemies. In destroying grain, 
he is quite the rival of his sable relative, the crow. 

Of the woodpecker family, the most beautiful in 
New England is the golden-winged woodpecker, or 
yellow hammer, often called the flicker. When un¬ 
molested, he occasionally makes his nest in the de¬ 
cayed trunk of a tree near a dwelling house. One of 
the saddest recollections of my boyhood is that of 


186 


Variety Papera 


capturing a brood of yoimg yellow-hammers in a 
neighboring orchard, just as they were ready to fly, 
and, after confining them in a cage, forgetting to give 
them water, and thus causing them to perish with 
thirst. How keen was my grief when I found them 
lifeless, with their long beaks agape and their stiff¬ 
ened tongues thrust out as if begging for a drop of 
moisture! 

No bird was better known formerly, in the United 
States, than the wild pigeon. In the early half of the 
nineteenth century, the immensity of its flocks, in 
some parts of the West, especially at the periods of 
migration, seemed almost incredible. Wilson, the dis¬ 
tinguished ornithologist, describes a flock he saw, 
stretching farther than the eye could reach in every 
direction, and moving overhead on swift wing, with 
but little break, for upwards of five hours. He says 
it contained, at the very lowest estimate, more than 
two thousand million birds. His statements respect¬ 
ing such flocks are amply corroborated by those of 
Audubon and other ornithologists. 

A recent writer remarks: “ The numerous flocks 
are without any parallel in the history of the feathered 
race; they can indeed alone be compared to the finny 
shoals of herrings which, descending from the Arctic 
regions, discolor and fill the ocean to the extent of 
mighty kingdoms. The approach of the feathered 
army, with a loud rushing roar, attended by a sudden 
darkness, might be mistaken for a fearful tornado 
about to overwhelm the face of Nature. The whole 


A Glimpse of the Feathered Tribes 187 

air is filled with birds; and they shut out the light as 
if it were an eclipse.” 

I forbear to mention in the present paper the many 
kinds of game birds within our national limits. It may 
be well, however, to remind you of the wild turkey, 
which is indigenous only in America, and which, 
having been domesticated, has furnished an invalu¬ 
able contribution to our poultry yards. 

Among rapacious birds, we have several species of 
eagles, many of hawks and owls, various crows, and 
the useful but offensive turkey-buzzard. The latter, 
in our Southern States, is a valuable scavenger; and 
is often seen hopping about in the neighborhood of 
meat and provision markets, as freely as if he were a 
domestic fowl. 

In appearance, the golden eagle and the bald, or 
white-headed, eagle are the noblest species of birds 
seen in New England. The dwelling place of the 
golden eagle is chiefly in mountain fastnesses or in 
the wilderness. Although now becoming rare, he is 
seen not infrequently among the White Mountains, 
where he builds his eyry on almost inaccessible crags. 
He is the venerated war-eagle of our northern abo¬ 
rigines ; and his tail feathers were once prized by them 
for talismanic head-dresses and as sacred decorations 
for their pipes of peace. The range of the golden eagle 
is over a large part of the north temperate zone, in¬ 
cluding much of Europe and Asia as well as America. 
From the loftiness of his flight, he was formerly be¬ 
lieved to aspire beyond the sun; and accordingly was 


188 


Variety Papers 


fabled, by our ancestors in southern Europe, to hold 
communion with Jove and to serve as his messenger. 
The Romans adopted the golden eagle as the emblem 
for their imperial standard, which certainly was be¬ 
fitting, not only because of his royal mien, but of his 
rapacity. 

The bald eagle is most common along unfrequented 
parts of our coast and about the borders of inland 
lakes. He builds his nest, of dry sticks and coarse 
grass, sometimes on a cliff, but usually in a lofty tree. 
His food is chiefly fish; while that of the golden eagle 
is principally land creatures. Both reject carrion, unless 
driven to it by extreme hunger. Each, when full grown, 
spreads his wings to a breadth of between six and seven 
feet, and is capable of bearing away in his talons 
lambs, young pigs, and even children two years old. 

The largest bird which comes within the limits of 
the United States is the white or wandering albatross. 
In fact, he is the largest of all flying fowls, measuring, 
in some instances, fourteen feet or more from tip to 
tip of his expanded wings. He is seldom seen within 
our borders; except on the Pacific Coast, where he is 
only a casual visitor. Often he follows vessels, for the 
food he can gather in their w^ake; and such is his 
power of long continued flight that sailors believe he 
sleeps on the wing. Coleridge’s “ Ancient Mariner ” 
is founded on a superstition relating to the wandering 
albatross. 

Within our southern border, are a few birds of a 
subtropical character. Among them, the most no- 


A Glimpse of the Feathered Tribes 189 

ticeable formerly was the Carolina paroquet, an ex¬ 
quisite little creature, of green and gold color, with 
long and beautiful tail feathers. A similar paroquet 
has lately been sold by strolling Italian girls on the 
street corners in some of our northern cities. He 
perches upon their fingers or on a stick held out to 
him, and shows no disposition to fly away. 

The Carolina paroquet is easily domesticated, and 
is affectionate toward those who treat him kindly. 
But, as he is destructive of fruit and grain, the farmer 
is his enemy. His beautiful plumage, too, has made 
him an object of attack, and already he has become 
quite rare. A recent writer says: “ Woman’s van¬ 
ity and man’s greed have joined hands to carry on 
the slaughter. From the combined attack of such 
foes, the remnant has but slight chance of escape.” 

I first saw flocks of paroquets in Florida along the 
romantic borders of the Ocklawaha River. They 

%s 

passed over my head like fairy blossoms blown from 
Eden. I was inexpressibly delighted. They belong 
to the parrot family, which is peculiarly abundant in 
America, but they are of a humble genus, and prob¬ 
ably could not be taught to talk. 

In conclusion, let me utter a plea for the birds. 
Destroy them not, ruthlessly, so beautiful, so joyous, 
so full of song. Life must be as sweet to them as to 
us. Nature gave them for our continual delight. 

“ He prayeth best who loveth best 
All things, both great and small; 

For the dear God who loveth us 
He made and loveth all.” 


VIII 

WHAT TO READ AND HOW TO READ 

The world is full of books. Single libraries contain 
over a million volumes. Not less than fifty thousand 
new books, a year, are launched upon the public. 
Over twenty thousand of these are in our mother 
tongue. 

Who can read seventy volumes a day? Yet this is 
what would be required, merely to keep pace with 
current English literature, exclusive of magazines and 
newspapers. Shall we sit down in despair, wrapping 
ourselves in the gray mantle of illiteracy; or shall we 
wander forth into Elysian fields, and gather what we 
can of the rich harvests of thought? Attempting the 
latter, what shall be our course, what, our principle 
of selection? 

The problem of What to Read and How to Read 
has confronted scholars ever since the first century 
following the invention of the modern art of printing. 
Locke and Bacon dwelt upon it with philosophic acu¬ 
men; Montaigne dallied with it; Dr. Johnson talked 
profoundly of the matter; Coleridge discussed it in 
his brilliant criticisms; the genial Lamb gave us 
“ Detached Thoughts on Books and Reading ”; Car¬ 
lyle indulged in sphinx-like utterances on the subject; 
and Emerson left us a valuable legacy in his essay on 
“ Books.” 


190 


What to Read and How to Read 191 

Other able writers, many of them now living, have 
given us partial solutions of the problem. Yet, every 
year, it grows more serious, as the habit of reading 
becomes more general, and as books multiply at a 
rate faster than populations. 

Emerson lays down for us three golden rules: — 
Read only famous books. 

Read only books which are a year old. 

Read only books which you like. 

These rules are meant, however, for readers of some 
culture. They are not without exceptions. The 
mental character, attainments and purposes of the 
reader must always be considered. The list of books 
which would be suitable for one would be as unfit for 
all, as the bill of fare at a dinner table that would 
satisfy one would be undesirable for all. 

In general the rule," Read only famous books/ ’ 
should be attentively regarded. 

Joseph Cook, who was widely read, as well as 
philosophic, said: "There are only about one thou¬ 
sand first-class books in the English language; cer¬ 
tainly, not over a thousand that deserve reading three 
times through one " can put into a bookcase, five 
feet square, the volumes which contain the chief 
weight of English literature: of the greatest books, 
there are not over a hundred in the mother tongue 
in which any man is born.” 

If a scholar, familiar with literature, sits down to 
the study of a catalogue prepared by a skillful bibli¬ 
ographer for a private library adapted to general 


192 


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wants, and checks off those books only which, in the 
wide world of choice reading, he may find it well to 
go three times through, — bearing in mind that each 
re-reading requires the neglect of other profitable 
reading, — I think Mr. Cook’s statement will be found 
correct. 

In poetry, for instance, observe the really great 
names: Homer, Virgil, Dante, Shakespeare, Milton, 
Goethe; some would add iEschylus and Sophocles. 

In other departments of literature, if we look for 
corresponding names, how small is the list! 

Yet the writings of many, whose names would not 
be included with the foregoing, are, to a great extent, 
admirable and well worthy of attentive study. But 
is it not best to seek familiarity with the great authors 
first? Those who wrote in languages with which we 
are unfamiliar may be read in translations — less 
satisfactory, it is true, than the originals, but still 
preserving much of their beauty and spirit. It may 
be well, often, to compare several different transla¬ 
tions; for where one is imperfect, others may be 
excellent. In reading Dante, for instance, we may 
be helped by comparing Pollock’s, Cary’s, Longfellow’s 
Parson’s, Warburton Pike’s, John A. Carlyle’s and 
Norton’s translations — the two latter, prose render¬ 
ings. 

Age gives to the best books the stamp of unques¬ 
tionable approval. There is a quaint Spanish saying: 

“ Old wood to burn! Old wine to drink! 

Old friends to trust! Old books to read! ” 


What to Read and How to Read 193 

A year from the publication of a book is no great 
time to wait. Such waiting may, in the long run, 
save us a decade of years. 

A second-rate book, however excellent, is a mis¬ 
chief, if it takes time that should be given only to a 
first-rate. It is well to remember the German proverb, 
“ The better is a great enemy of the best.” 

Never be concerned because you are unable to keep 
pace with current literature. You can read but a 
very small part of it — even with the utmost diligence. 
If you take the choicest, only, you will have all you 
can master, and you may be congratulated at escap¬ 
ing a world of rubbish. 

Sir William Hamilton says: “ Read much, but not 
many works.” Multum, non multa! This is the rule 
of the most distinguished scholars. It is not the 
amount you read, but how much you make your own, 
that tells on your life and character. 

Nothing should be considered more attentively, in 
one's reading, than character building. Men are great 
oftener by their moral force than by their genius or 
learning. Seldom are they better than the books they 
read. Shun bad books, as you would shun poison; 
or, if you read them at all, do so chiefly that you may 
mark their faults, and aid in correcting their evil 
influence. 

The bane of our present literature is the flood of 
degrading novels and reckless story-papers which 
picture vice in seductive forms and give to the worst 
characters a touch of heroism. Some years ago, it 


194 


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was said that about thirty flash newspapers were pub¬ 
lished in New York City alone, and that they had over 
three million readers. Teachers of public schools say, 
the most unruly and rebellious boys are those who 
revel in such trash. Children should be taught that 
the dime novel is vulgar, and the cheap story-paper a 
disgrace. 

Emerson’s rule, “ Read only what you like,” was 
not meant to restrict readers to what is most enter¬ 
taining, but only to what is of such interest as thor¬ 
oughly to command their attention — such interest, 
too, as springs from a wholesome craving, and not 
from an appetite already debauched by careless and 
unprofitable reading. It has been well said that inter¬ 
est is the mother of attention, and attention, of mem¬ 
ory; therefore, to secure memory, secure its mother 
and grandmother. A queenly personage is Mother 
Interest! She asserts her sovereignty over us from our 
birth; and never abdicates, as long as we are conscious. 

Of other principles to be regarded in our choice of 
reading, it may be said: — 

One of the first things to be thought of, after influ¬ 
ence on character, is, What do we most need to know? 
Having a practical end in view is a great incentive to 
effort; we contend for a golden prize — not for what 
may vanish into nothingness. 

Read a variety: religious, political, social, literary, 
scientific, artistic. A broad culture makes a stronger 
and more liberal man. 

If information is desired on subjects about which 


What to Head and How to Head 195 

knowledge is steadily increasing, be careful to seek out 
the latest, approved books. Never read an antiquated 
book on any art or science, however good in its day, 
unless you read it as history. Get the best that has 
been written in each branch, by authors of recognized 
merit, usually within the last ten years. 

Be on your guard against charlatanry and pretense. 

Without neglecting what is best in the past, do 
what you can to keep abreast with the times by read¬ 
ing a jew good newspapers and magazines. But cull 
their contents with the utmost care. A voyager in 
such literature should be what the captain of a fishing 
smack is to his craft — a good skipper. Hosts of 
persons are frittering away time enough in newspaper 
reading for the acquirement of a valuable education. 
Pass over the idle gossip, bitter political controversies, 
careless conjectures, ordinary criminal records, and 
foolish sporting news; but not over the great events 
of current history or the discussions of the important 
social, scientific and religious questions of the day. 
The best thoughts of the ablest living writers relate 
to the latter subjects, and are commonly found in 
first-class public journals. 

After the study of the lessons of Holy Writ, that of 
history is undeniably the most profitable. History 
is the record of human experiences. It acquaints us 
with the wisdom and the follies of the past. It is a 
" lamp to our feet and a light to our path.” True! it 
is imperfectly written; yet, in spite of its imperfec¬ 
tions, it presents to us, on the whole, such an epitome 


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of valuable lessons — such a storehouse of illuminat¬ 
ing truths for the guidance of our lives — as can be 
found nowhere else except in the Bible. 

Biography is inseparably associated with history. 
The two must be read together. Courses of reading, 
prescribed by able scholars in general literature, 
allot more than half the time to history and biography. 

Underlying history, is geography. The former never 
can be intelligently understood without a good knowl¬ 
edge of the latter. The growth of nations, the char¬ 
acter of their industries, the lines of their material 
and social progress, are determined largely by the 
physical conditions to which they are subject. Ex¬ 
travagant as the assertion may seem, it can be clearly 
shown, for instance, that the semi-civilization of the 
Tartars and the Bedouins — their nomadic habits, 
their want of learning, their lack of acquaintance with 
the arts and sciences, their patriarchal forms of govern¬ 
ment, and their warlike and predatory dispositions, 
all, are due in good part to local conditions which 
deprive the countries they inhabit, except in a few 
limited districts, of such a supply of rain as is needful 
for agriculture, and thus leave them dependent for 
support mainly upon the care of flocks and herds with 
which they wander hither and thither in search of 
sufficient pasturage. So on the other hand, it can be 
shown that the greatness of ancient Greece and Rome 
and the precedence of modem England are due in a 
good measure to the native resources and fortunate 
environments of their original domains. 


What to Read and How to Read 197 

A broad survey of the world, in respect to its 
present resources, its means of progress, and its 
future possibilities, is impracticable without a knowl¬ 
edge of the physical sciences. Such knowledge opens 
to our view the depths of a vast universe, unlocks God’s 
revelation of himself in material things, raises us to 
the loftiest contemplations, is the delight and exalta¬ 
tion of our youth, and may be the joy and ennoble¬ 
ment of our old age. 

Who can refrain from poetry and fiction — from 
the great works of the imagination? They touch the 
springs of the human heart; they kindle the loftiest 
emotions; they appeal, with dramatic intensity, to 
our highest faculties. 

But the world seems nearly crazed with fiction. 
Over two thirds of the books taken from public 
libraries are novels — three fourths of them of a 
visionary and sensational character. Yet the novel 
has its proper place, both as an instructor and enter¬ 
tainer. Sir John Herschel says it is “ one of the most 
powerful engines of civilization ever invented.” 
Anthony Trollope says: It has well nigh succeeded to 
the sermon, as a former of character. Considered as 
an adjunct of history, its value hardly can be over¬ 
estimated. As to the historical element in Scott’s 
novels, it was remarked years ago, by Professor 
Smythe, that Scott seems to have chosen the stone 
which the builders rejected, and it has become the 
head of the corner. The historic novel may be made 
the attractive portal to pure history; and may serve 


198 


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even better than the latter for the portrayal ol 
manners, customs, modes of life, typical character, and 
popular feeling. 

Finally: How shall we read ? 

First and foremost, by subjects! Follow one book 
with another on the same or a kindred subject, until 
you have made yourself tolerably familiar with the 
department of learning to which it relates. Frequent 
turning from one subject to another, with which it has 
little kinship, prevents consecutive thinking, inter¬ 
feres with profitable reflection, forbids growing inter¬ 
est, begets carelessness of attention, weakens the 
memory through heedlessness and lack of association, 
and seriously hinders the acquirement of knowledge. 
Owing to these facts, much choppy newspaper¬ 
reading is unwholesome. 

But do not pursue one subject so long and so ex¬ 
clusively as to make it a hobby; for the intellectual 
powers require varied exercise. 

Before you finish a book, decide if possible what you 
will read next. In this way, you can always have a 
good book at hand, and your attention seldom will be 
diverted to a worthless one. 

Attempt only books you are confident of finishing. 
Persist to the end. 

Adhere to a well-devised system of reading; but do 
not be fettered by it. 

Never say you are without time for reading. The 
trouble is not lack of time, but waste of time. Im¬ 
prove the odd moments. Not many years ago, I 


What to Read and How to Road 


199 


knew a merchant’s clerk in New York, who, in brief 
snatches of time from half-hour rides between his 
home and the store, learned three modern languages 
so successfully as to conduct correspondence in them 
for his employers. An English scientist of distinction, 
it is said, learned a language while waiting for his wife 
to complete her evening toilets. 

Take solid reading when you are fresh; the lighter 
when tired. An entertaining book is often restful. 

Read for inspiration as well as for pleasure and 
instruction. We, all, are affected in our moods by 
what we read. One of sensitive temperament can 
hardly read a play of Shakespeare or a book of Milton’s 
Paradise Lost, without being conscious afterwards 
that somehow it has quickened his imagination and 
contributed to his excellence of speech. So he can 
scarcely read one of Emerson’s essays, without expe¬ 
riencing a refinement of his own thought, or one of 
Webster’s orations, without its kindling in his breast a 
feeling of patriotic devotion. 

Read, to remember. Therefore, in general, read 
slowly, ponder and review. It is said of Edmund 
Burke that he read every book as if he were never to 
see it a second time, and thus made it his own. 

Yet there are many valuable books which deserve 
only to be skimmed. Cultivate the faculty of glancing 
them over rapidly, taking only the cream. It is often 
needful to do this, in seeking information for imme¬ 
diate use. Some men have a remarkable faculty for 
thus appropriating the solid contents of volumes. 


200 


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The omniverous Carlyle devoured an average of ten 
books a day. Gladstone is said to have read almost 
by paragraphs at a glance, and with wonderful com¬ 
prehension. 

It is an excellent practice to make notes of what 
we read, and to write on the subjects soon afterwards. 
It gives an exactness to our impressions such as 
hardly can be gained in any other way. Next to 
this, the best course is to talk over what we read, 
with persons interested in the subjects. As an aid 
to such practice, cooperative reading clubs are 
excellent. 

Maintain the habit of reading throughout life; 
but allow reasonable intervals for mental rest and 
digestion. Be careful not to mistake the morbid 
cravings of the mind for intellectual hunger. If the 
brain grows weary, give it simple diversion. After a 
period of repose and of nursing with a sick-room diet, 
return seasonably to more solid nutriment. 

In the lapse of years, well regulated habits of read¬ 
ing and reflection will make any sensible person a 
respectable, if not an accomplished, scholar. 


IX 


DANIEL WEBSTER’S ORATORY COMPARA¬ 
TIVELY VIEWED 

Oratory is subject to no positive test. Its merit, 
so far as determinable, is measured not merely by 
the intrinsic excellence of what is said, but also by 
the manner of saying it and by its suitableness to the 
persons addressed. A speech fit for one body of men 
may be wholly unfit for another. 

Rufus Choate once remarked of the orations of 
Demosthenes — the prime characteristics of which 
are their conciseness, their careful elaboration of 
thought and expression, and their freedom from 
ornament — that there was “ not an audience in the 
United States, except the judges and lawyers of the 
Supreme Court, who could bear such condensation of 
matter.” Yet Demosthenes confessedly stands at the 
head of all ancient orators. But it should be remem¬ 
bered that his orations were addressed to Athenian 
citizens at the period when Greece had attained its 
highest culture, and that his audiences consisted of 
men trained in public debate and educated to argue 
their own cases before the law courts. 

Oratory has been defined as “ the art of public 
speaking in an eloquent or effective manner.” But 
the manner involves something more than the use of 
appropriate words; for a merely droning utterance 


201 


202 


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may be fatal to oratory. We must look beyond the 
words, however eloquent when read, and must con¬ 
sider their impressiveness when spoken, with all the 
glamour of the orator’s presence, of his accompanying 
action, his tones of voice, his sympathetic touch of 
the audience, and his power of kindling in their 
minds and hearts the thoughts and feelings he seeks 
to inspire. 

Perhaps no better statement can be made of what 
constitutes oratory than that of Daniel Webster in 
his address, in Faneuil Hall, in grateful tribute to the 
memories of Adams and Jefferson: — 

“ When public bodies are to be addressed on 
momentous occasions, when great interests are at 
stake, and strong passions excited, nothing is 
valuable in speech farther than it is connected 
with high intellectual and moral endowments. 
Clearness, earnestness, and force are the qualities 
which produce conviction. True eloquence, in¬ 
deed, does not consist in speech. It cannot be 
brought from far. Labor and learning may toil 
for it, but they will toil in vain. Words and 
phrases may be marshaled in every way, but 
they cannot compass it. It must exist in the 
man, in the subject, and in the occasion. Af¬ 
fected passion, intense expression, the pomp of 
declamation, all, may aspire to it; they cannot 
reach it. It comes, if it comes at all, like the 
outbreaking of a fountain from the earth, or the 


Daniel Webster's Oratory 


203 


bursting forth of volcanic fires, with spontaneous, 
original, native force. The graces taught in the 
schools, the costly ornaments and studied con¬ 
trivances of speech, shock and disgust men when 
their own lives and the fate of their wives, their 
children, and their country, hang on the decision 
of the hour. Then words have lost their power, 
rhetoric is vain, and all elaborate oratory is con¬ 
temptible. Even genius itself then feels rebuked 
and subdued, as in the presence of higher quali¬ 
ties. Then patriotism is eloquent; then self- 
devotion is eloquent. The clear conception, 
outrunning the deductions of logic, the high 
purpose, the firm resolve, the dauntless spirit, 
speaking on the tongue, beaming from the eye, 
informing every feature, and urging the whole 
man onward, right onward to his object, this, this, 
is eloquence; or rather, it is something greater and 
higher than all eloquence, — it is action, noble, 
sublime, godlike action.” 

From the foregoing, it will be seen that Webster 
puts at the back of all oratory, as its most effective 
force, the intellectual and moral character and high 
purpose of the speaker as manifest to his audience. 
If these shine forth commendably in his person, they 
reinforce his words, and awaken feelings which lan¬ 
guage, alone, is powerless to produce. The manliness 
of the orator, as recognized by his hearers, is an ele¬ 
ment always to be considered; since from this, spring 


204 


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the evident sincerity and strength of feeling which 
give nobility to his presence, significance to his action, 
and profound impressiveness to his elocution. 

Daniel Webster was a man of superlatively majestic 
presence, the most majestic man I ever saw. Well do 
I remember his looks as he stood on the platform 
when honored with a public reception in Boston, a 
while after his famous “ Seventh of March Speech.” 
I recall vividly his stalwart form, his massive head, 
his great eyes flaming out from their dark cavernous 
sockets, his noble poise, his sovereign grace. 

" Deep on his front, engraven, 

Deliberation sat and public care 

and in his face, a princely counsel shone. 

The portentous expression of the whole man thrilled 
me through and through; and when he began speak¬ 
ing, with his rich sonorous voice, his sweeping gestures 
and his splendid mien, I was spellbound. Yet his 
words were few and simple, but little more than an 
expression of deep gratitude for the recognition of his 
late self-sacrificing effort in the Senate, to stay the 
tide of dissension then sweeping over the country and 
threatening to break up the cherished union between 
the states. 

More than twenty years before, he had sounded a 
clarion note of warning, in his Speech in Reply to 
Hayne, when he said: — 

“ I profess, Sir, in my career hitherto, to have 
kept steadily in view the prosperity and honor 


Daniel Webster's Oratory 


205 


of the whole country and the preservation of our 
Federal Union. It is to that Union, we owe our 
safety at home and our consideration and dignity 
abroad. It is to that Union that we are chiefly 
indebted for whatever makes us most proud of 
our country. . . . While the Union lasts, we 
have high, exciting, gratifying prospects spread 
out before us, for us and our children. Beyond 
that, I seek not to penetrate the veil. God grant 
that, in my day at least, that curtain may not 
rise! God grant that, on my vision, never may 
be opened what lies behind! When my eyes shall 
be turned to behold for the last time the sun in 
heaven, may I not see him shining on the broken 
and dishonored fragments of a once glorious 
Union; on States, dissevered, discordant, belliger¬ 
ent; on a land, rent with civil feuds or drenched, 
it may be, in fraternal blood! Let that last feeble 
and lingering glance rather behold the gorgeous 
ensign of the Republic, now known and honored 
throughout the earth, still full high advanced, 
its arms and trophies streaming in their original 
luster, not a stripe erased nor polluted, nor a 
single star obscured, bearing for its motto no 
such miserable interrogatory as ‘ What is all this 
worth? , nor those other words of delusion and 
folly, * Liberty first and Union afterwards but 
everywhere, spread all over in characters of living 
light, blazing on all its ample folds, as they float 
over the sea and over the land and in every wind 


206 


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under the whole heaven, that other sentiment, 
dear to every true American heart — Liberty and 
Union, now and forever, one and inseparable.” 

These are the words of a patriot, of a broad-minded 
statesman, rising high above sectional prejudices and 
seeking the good of the whole country. They appeal 
to the loftiest motives—to the love of family and kin¬ 
dred, to the desire for domestic tranquillity, to regard 
for cherished possessions, to pride of nationality, and 
to the hope of a glorious future. They are uttered in 
solemn admonition; and behind them, is a sterling 
manliness that is instantly and powerfully felt. 

Almost from the beginning of his public career, 
Webster maintained the inviolability of the Union. 
To the end, he remained its foremost champion. 

His Speech in Reply to Hayne is regarded as his 
most consummate effort. By this, therefore, as a 
standard, we may measure his oratory — so far as 
may be practicable by a single speech — with that 
of any other of the great orators whose resonant 
tones vibrate through the centuries. At the time of 
its delivery, Webster was forty-eight, years old, and 
in the full maturity of his powers as a public speaker. 

It may be proper for us to pause, a moment, while 
we take an inventory of these powers. Besides the 
advantage of an imposing presence, he had unusual 
dramatic talent, always held in judicious restraint, 
to guard against anything like a theatrical quality. 
Yet it was said of him by his friend and most familiar 


Daniel Webster's Oratory 


207 


legal opponent, Jeremiah Mason, that, in Webster, a 
great actor was lost to the stage. His voice was a 
rich baritone, of remarkable volume and compass, 
peculiarly thrilling in its low tones, and of wonderful 
carrying power. It has been remarked that he was 
well heard, in one of his Bunker Hill orations, by over 
thirty thousand persons. That his elocutionary ability 
was superior is well attested; and that he used it 
occasionally with great impressiveness, there can be 
no doubt. Mr. Lodge, his biographer — who is careful 
to avoid excessive praise — thinks that Webster’s 
physical equipment for oratory probably was beyond 
that of any other of the world’s great speakers known 
in history. 

His dignity as an orator was supreme; under no 
circumstances was it carelessly laid aside. His 
equanimity was nearly perfect. Provocation almost 
never caused the loss of his temper or betrayed him 
into indiscretion; it incited only to a higher use of his 
powers. While the storm might rage within and 
strongly impel him, he kept a firm grasp upon the 
helm; and his momentum, therefore, as he bore down 
on his adversaries, was all the more crushing. Yet, 
even in the moment of victory, he showed a royal 
courtesy, and chose to spare rather than to anni¬ 
hilate. Never were these facts more conspicuous 
than in his Reply to Hayne. 

Webster was a sincere lover of truth and justice; 
and continually showed a paramount regard for each. 
Calhoun said that he was “ the fairest man, he ever 


208 


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met, to state the position of his opponents.” Persons 
who were familiar with his forensic efforts remarked 
that he seldom argued a case forcibly which he be¬ 
lieved to be bad. His powers of irony and invective 
against unfairness and injustice were superb; and 
occasionally were supplemented with humor, al¬ 
though the latter was sparingly indulged. 

Webster’s imagination was strong — sometimes 
bold and free, — but usually reserved, and always 
chaste. Appropriate imagery adorned his speeches 
as rich sculptures adorn the crowning portions of a 
plainly walled Grecian temple. 

Almost without exception, his forensic addresses, 
political speeches and special orations show rare con¬ 
structive power, with the most careful regard for 
symmetry and logical strength. Seldom neglecting 
rhetorical graces, he always kept the chief end in 
view. To this fact — more, perhaps, than to any 
other — is due his remarkable success in carrying 
conviction to his listeners. 

Webster was equally capable of clear thinking and 
clear expression. These characteristics were mani¬ 
fest especially in his discussion of abstruse subjects 
and in his handling of dry facts. His speeches on 
financial questions rarely lacked in popular interest; 
and were listened to as were those of few other orators. 

Webster’s ability in the choice of language was 
admirable. His words were, in good part, Anglo- 
Saxon, simple and forceful, set in brief sentences, 
and conveying his meaning with exactness and pre- 


Daniel Webster’s Oratory 


209 


eision. In a newspaper report of one of his speeches, 
a few years before his death, I found but three words 
of more than two syllables, in half a column. The 
simplicity of his diction doubtless was gained chiefly 
during his early law-practice in New Hampshire, when 
opposed to Jeremiah Mason, whose plainness of 
speech was remarkable. Webster spoke slowly; ow¬ 
ing partly to his temperament and partly to his care 
to express his thoughts in the best terms. Henry 
Clay, his great compeer in the Senate, spoke two 
words to his one. 

Of the rare vigor of Webster’s intellect — its no¬ 
bility, its strength, its comprehensive grasp, its tena¬ 
cious hold, — it is hardly needful to speak. No wonder 
he was sometimes called “ The God-like Daniel.” 

Scarcely less surprising was his power of adaptation 
to his audiences and to the occasions. To judge 
fairly of his oratory, regard must be paid to the great 
variety of his efforts: his arguments before juries of 
unlearned men, his discussions of law-questions be¬ 
fore the Supreme Court of the United States, his 
speeches in the Senate and House of Representatives, 
his eulogies of statesmen, jurists and chief magis¬ 
trates; his orations on great occasions — as at Plym¬ 
outh and Bunker Hill; his addresses at rural gath¬ 
erings; his harangues during political campaigns; his 
talks to Dartmouth alumni in Washington, to brokers 
in Wall Street, to the Sons of New Hampshire in 
Boston, — in short, his addresses on the most diverse 
occasions, at conventions, mass-meetings, public cere- 


210 


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monials, receptions, etc. No orator ever was called 
on for more varied efforts; and, in each instance, he 
was equal to the occasion; since, apart from his 
learning — gained in college, at the bar, in Congress, 
in the cabinet, and in social intercourse with the most 
cultured in the land, — he possessed the broad intelli¬ 
gence of a strong every-day thinking man, who, from 
early youth, earned his own living, who was a keen 
practical observer, who was in sympathy with men 
of all vocations, who well digested whatever he 
learned, and who had a wonderfully retentive memory. 
He read men as he read an open book, and his knowl¬ 
edge of human nature seemed almost supreme. 

His public oratory began with a Fourth of July 
oration at Hanover, New Hampshire, during his last 
year in college, followed by a similar oration, two 
years later, at Fryeburg, Maine, where he taught a 
small country academy. 

Webster was not a scholar in the technical sense; 
yet he was widely read, and possessed a vast store of 
information, especially touching matters of common 
life. Often he surprised others by his ample knowl¬ 
edge of subjects about which they presumed he was 
ignorant. On one occasion, during a familiar conver¬ 
sation, long after he had become distinguished in 
public life, he astonished his listeners by a learned 
discourse on mutton. 

Webster had the courage of his convictions. He 
was unflinching in the performance of what he be¬ 
lieved to be his patriotic duty. More than once he 


Daniel Webster's Oratory 


211 


lifted up his voice in behalf of the nation, as a whole, 
when he well knew that he was opposing, at a serious 
personal sacrifice, the wishes of a majority of those to 
whom he was indebted for his place in the Senate. 
Such was the case, it is believed, when he made his 
noted “ Seventh of March Speech,” relating to the 
“ Compromise Measures of 1850.” Weeks before, he 
had declared to Mr. Clay his purpose to express such 
views as are contained in this speech, — “ no matter,” 
he said, “ what might befall himself at the North.” 
His critics, however, claim that, under this com¬ 
promise, his consent to the organization of Utah and 
New Mexico as territories — leaving the question of 
slavery within their limits to be determined after¬ 
wards by the settlers, in accordance with the prin¬ 
ciple of “ squatter sovereignty”—was a distinct 
abandonment of a higher principle for which he had 
long contended. Yet repeatedly he declared, in his 
speech, that he deemed slavery a great moral, social 
and political evil, and that he was utterly opposed to 
its extension beyond the limits already prescribed; 
but, nevertheless, he would not insist on the imme¬ 
diate prohibition of slavery, by national enactment, 
in respect to the territories under consideration; be¬ 
cause he believed it to be excluded from them by a 
law superior to any human enactment, namely, “ the 
law of nature, of physical geography, the law of the 
formation of the Earth,” and since he “ would not 
take pains uselessly to reaffirm an ordinance of 
nature ” or to “ re-enact the will of God,” and would 


2J2 


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not favor putting into legislation any “ evidence of 
the votes of superior power, exercised for no purpose 
but to wound the pride — whether a just and rational 
pride or an irrational pride — of the citizens of the 
Southern States,” who must inevitably regard such 
an act as “ a taunt, an indignity.” Could reasons be 
more cogent, or better suffice for persons realizing, as 
he did, the utter impossibility of maintaining slavery 
in territories consisting chiefly of arid table-lands and 
mountain districts ill suited to agriculture? 

Webster not only deprecated, but sought to allay, 
the growing bitterness of feeling between the North 
and the South; and, in his Seventh of March Speech, 
condemned alike the course of Northern and Southern 
radicals who were provoking this feeling. Threats of 
secession already had been made; and he clearly fore¬ 
saw the evils which would arise from an attempted 
severance of the Union. He said: — 

“ I hear with distress and anguish the word, 
‘ secession,’ especially when it falls from the lips 
of those who are patriotic, and known to the 
country, and known all over the world, for their 
political services. Secession! peaceable seces¬ 
sion! Sir, your eyes and mine are never des¬ 
tined to see that miracle ... he who sees these 
States now revolving in harmony around a com¬ 
mon center, and expects to see them quit their 
places and fly off without convulsion, may look 
the next hour to see the heavenly bodies rush 


Daniel Webster's Oratory 


213 


from their spheres, and jostle against each other 
in the realms of space, without causing the 
wreck of the universe. There can be no such 
thing as a peaceable secession. Peaceable seces¬ 
sion is an utter impossibility. ... It must pro¬ 
duce a war, and such a war as I will not describe 
in its two-fold character 

This memorable speech in favor of compromise 
cost Webster the immediate loss of his popularity in 
the North and, a little later, his possible nomination 
to the presidency. But was his wisdom justified? 
Did his critics afterwards admit it? Only eleven 
years later, the most prominent of those who had 
censured him for his course in regard to the territo¬ 
rial organization of New Mexico and Utah — namely, 
Seward, Wade, Chandler, Sumner and others — con¬ 
sented to the organization of similar territories, with¬ 
out a word of proviso respecting slavery. They no 
longer sought to “ re-enact the will of God.” Yet 
the dissensions between the North and the South, 
which Webster had striven so hard to abate, went on 
increasing; until the war cloud he saw gathering, 
more than thirty years before, burst in all its fury, — 
and his forebodings of a “ land rent with civil feuds ” 
and “ drenched in fraternal blood ” were terribly 
realized. For the liberation of four million slaves, a 
million precious lives were sacrificed, more than ten 
thousand million dollars were lost, and untold sor¬ 
rows were brought to countless homes. Daniel Web- 


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ster’s courage and self-sacrifice, which had been so 
successful in averting other disasters, ill sufficed to 
stay the tide of controversy that brought on the Civil 
War. Yet, long before it came, Webster was laid to 
rest in the silent grave; and his fervent prayer was 
answered that he might be spared from beholding with 
mortal vision such an appalling catastrophe. 

But was his sacrifice to no purpose? It has been 
well said, concerning the support he gave the Com¬ 
promise Measures of 1850 — which afforded a partial 
satisfaction to both the North and the South, and 
thus served to postpone the threatened rupture until 
1861, — that “ those eleven years that he gained to 
the Union were of inestimable value for the final con¬ 
flict.” Can we doubt that, during those years, the 
ardent discussions which occurred in legislative halls, 
in widely circulated journals, upon public platforms 
and in private debate, helped to develop a deeper 
seated aversion to secession and a more earnest 
desire for the preservation of the Union, and thus that 
they served to bring the reluctant citizens of the 
North to that ultimate decision for the overthrow of 
slavery which even President Lincoln hesitated to 
avow until he issued his Emancipation Proclamation, 
January 1st, 1863? Or can we doubt that, during 
the same years, the recorded utterances of Daniel 
Webster touching the evils of threatened secession 
and the value of our cherished Union sank deeper 
into the hearts of his countrymen and left a more 
abiding impression? 


Daniel Webster's Oratory 


215 


Webster’s courage, as I have said, was unflinching. 
While it probably was inherited, in good part, from 
his parents — especially from his father, who was a 
noted Indian fighter, and who served in the Revo¬ 
lutionary War, with the approval of no less dis¬ 
tinguished a leader than General Washington, — it 
doubtless was built largely upon the consciousness 
of his own great powers. When he was asked by 
some timorous person, after the memorable speech of 
Hayne in the Senate — containing some personalities 
respecting himself — whether he felt confident he 
could answer him, he replied: “ Answer him, I’ll 
grind him finer than snuff.” 

Hayne’s speech was concluded, January 25th, 1830; 
and Webster spoke on the following day. There was 
no opportunity for elaborate preparation. He could 
do nothing more than hastily to marshal his forces; 
and — relying upon his courage, upon his wonderful 
memory of the facts to be presented or discussed, 
upon a thorough knowledge of his audience, upon his 
patriotic impulses, his instinctive love of justice, his 
perfect self-possession, his clear insight, his great 
logical power, his constructive imagination, his keen¬ 
ness of irony and sarcasm, his facility in the choice of 
words, his majestic presence, his splendid vocal equip¬ 
ment, and his impressive delivery, — to trust to the 
inspiration of the moment for his modes of expression 
and for such tactful conduct as would lead to the 
desired end. Let us observe that, in this speech, all 
these wonderful qualifications and powers were exer- 


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cised to a high degree. Indeed, in no other recorded 
speech, so largely extemporaneous, has there ever 
been shown, to the best of my belief, such a remark¬ 
able combination of the great powers which bring 
victory to an orator. He did, indeed, grind Hayne 
“ finer than snuff”; but the grinding process was 
without malevolence. 

It is impossible, in the brief time allotted me, to 
analyze the speech, and to point out its individual 
merits. An acquaintance with it must be presumed, 
or it must be commended to you for your faithful 
perusal. There is a spontaneity in it such as charac¬ 
terizes the highest efforts of genius. It moves on 
with a mighty tide, the resistless sweep of which 
commands perpetual admiration. We almost won¬ 
der, as we approach the end, how such a speech ever 
could have been made without direct inspiration from 
above. 

It is not easy to make a fair comparison between 
Webster’s oratory and that of other famous speakers, 
— the times, the occasions, and even the men them¬ 
selves, were so different. 

The concise elaboration of Demosthenes’ speeches 
and their unfitness, to-day, for any but an exceptional 
audience have already been remarked upon. We 
study and admire them as literature, not as models 
for our imitation. It has been said: They are “ the 
most elaborate compositions that ever fell from 
human lips,” and that, “ as such, they defy compe¬ 
tition.” Probably, in many respects, they are peer- 


Daniel Webster's Oratory 


217 


less. But it is hardly presumable that Demosthenes, 
who, in his early attempts at oratory, was a pitiful 
stammerer, ever so completely overcame his impedi¬ 
ment as to acquire as noble an elocution as Webster’s. 
History informs us that the effectiveness of his ora¬ 
tory, for the ends he strove to attain, was, in notable 
instances, a failure. This is true respecting his Philip¬ 
pics. Demosthenes — sad to say — died by his own 
hand. 

The following extract from his “ Oration for the 
Crown,” in reply to iEschines, is submitted as a 
specimen of his invectives: — 

“ But I must, it seems — though not naturally 
fond of railing, yet on account of the calumnies 
uttered by my opponent — just mention, in reply 
to so many falsehoods, some leading particulars 
concerning him; and show who he is, and from 
whom descended — that so readily begins using 
hard words, — and what language he carps at, 
after uttering such as any decent man would 
have shuddered to pronounce. Why, if my ac¬ 
cuser had been iEacus, or Rhadamanthus, or 
Minos, instead of a prater, a hack of the market, 
a pestilent scribbler, I don’t think he would have 
spoken such things, or found such offensive 
terms, — shouting, as in a tragedy, * 0 Earth! 0 
Sun! 0 Virtue!’ and the like, — and, again, 
appealing to Intelligence and Education — by 
which the honorable is distinguished from the 


218 


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base. — All this, you undoubtedly heard from 
his lips. — Accursed one! What have you or 
yours to do with virtue? How should you discern 
what is honorable or otherwise? How were you 
ever qualified? What right have you to talk 
about education? Those who really possess it 
would never say as much of themselves, but 
rather blush if another did; those who are desti¬ 
tute, like you, but make pretensions to it from 
stupidity, annoy the hearers by their talk, with¬ 
out getting the reputation which they desire.” 

These words of Demosthenes are but little else than 
personal abuse, although measurably warranted by 
the gross attack on him. But did they reflect credit 
upon the orator, or help his cause in the esteem of 
his hearers? Better suited, were they, undoubtedly, 
to Demosthenes’ time than they would be to our own; 
for heathen malice was not then softened by Christian 
charity. But the chief question for our considera¬ 
tion is: Does such language contribute to true elo¬ 
quence? We must admit that it has a vigorous ring 
and is pleasing to a resentful spirit. Yet is it not 
akin to the familiar tirades such as are condemned 
to-day even in newspapers? 

Are like expressions found in any of Webster’s 
speeches? On the contrary, do we not find instead a 
nobler language of reproof, which is far more effect¬ 
ive? Witness the Reply to Hayne, as hereinafter 
quoted; and see with what fairness, what lofty con- 


Daniel II ebrlcr's Oratory 


2 ID 


sciousness of rectitude, the speaker wards the thrusts 
of his opponent and turns back upon him the sharp 
personalities meant to disable himself, — how adroitly 
he touches his pride and pierces his moral nature 
with that keen sense of wrongdoing which puts him 
to shame and pursues him as with a whip of scorpi¬ 
ons. 

Passing on to a period about two centuries later 
than that of Demosthenes, our attention is drawn to 
Cicero, the greatest of the Latin orators. In intellect 
and character, he towered high above most of his 
illustrious contemporaries. Yet it has been said that, 
from the first, he was “ an imitator and adapter,” 
rather than an original thinker, — and that, through¬ 
out, he was “ a follower, rather than a leader — in 
action as well as in speculation,” — that “ his mental 
training disposed him to admire past models.” If 
this be true, he certainly was the inferior of Webster 
in intellectual vigor and independence of character. 
But it can hardly be denied that Cicero, in his later 
years, showed much boldness, originality and free¬ 
dom of thought. In his own rare times, he was re¬ 
garded as the equal of Demosthenes. A capable 
literary critic has remarked that Cicero “ exhibits 
the happy medium between the dryness of Demos¬ 
thenes and the exuberance of the Asiatic school,” 
that “ no ancient orator could so easily and naturally 
turn the feelings of an audience in any desired direc¬ 
tion.” We may well believe that Cicero, being of a 
more ardent temperament than Webster, could more 


220 Variety Papers 

readily kindle the enthusiasm of a promiscuous 
assembly. 

Cicero has been criticised as frequently insincere. 
His character was, in many respects, that of a cour¬ 
tier. He was vain, and greedy of praise. These 
faults occasionally marred his oratory; but its im¬ 
pressiveness was not so much lessened thereby in his 
own day as it would be in ours. 

In his early culture, he was Webster’s superior; in 
his later, it may be questioned if he was his equal. 
During the centuries that separated them, the world 
advanced in learning, character and refinement; and 
the change doubtless affected Webster for his advan¬ 
tage. Measuring the two by the immediate success 
of their oratorical efforts, there is, perhaps, no great 
difference; but testing them by the intrinsic worth 
and abiding influence of their speeches, the palm of 
superiority — in my judgment — must be given to 
Webster. 

I submit, as a specimen of Cicero’s invective — 
for comparison with that of Demosthenes’, before 
quoted — an extract from one of his speeches against 
Mark Antony. The translation is by Rufus Choate, 
and is remarkable for its preservation of the spirit of 
the original. It is an orator’s translation of a great 
orator’s speech. 

“ Lay hold on this opportunity of our salva¬ 
tion, conscript fathers, — by the immortal gods, 
T conjure you! — and remember that you are the 


Daniel Webster’s Oratory 


221 


foremost men, here in the council-chamber, of the 
whole earth. Give one sign to the Roman people 
that, even as now they pledge their valor, so you 
pledge your wisdom to the crisis of the state. 
But what need that 1 exhort you? Is there one 
so insensate as not to understand that, if we 
sleep over an occasion such as this, it is ours to 
bow our necks to a tyranny, not proud and cruel 
only, but ignominious, but sinful? Do ye not 
know this Antony? Do ye not know his com¬ 
panions? Do ye not know his whole house — 
insolent, — impure, — gamesters, — drunkards? 
To be slaves to such as he, to such as these, were 
it not the fullest measure of misery, conjoined 
with the fullest measure of disgrace? ” 

This language, although severe, is less a tirade than 
that quoted from Demosthenes’ Oration for the 
Crown. 

Some time after the delivery of the speech — and 
largely, no doubt, because of the anger it caused — 
Cicero was assassinated by Mark Antony’s hirelings. 

It may suffice, in our present consideration of 
Webster’s oratory, to compare it with that of one 
other great speaker, namely, Edmund Burke, who is 
generally recognized as the most eminent of British 
orators. We. must remember, however, that, of 
Burke’s extemporaneous speeches, we have but few 
reports which closely approximate to them as actu¬ 
ally delivered. The art of shorthand writing was 


222 


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then in its infancy; and what has come down to us 
of Burke’s speeches was either carefully written out 
beforehand or was enlarged from imperfect notes, 
supplemented by recollection or by a vigorous 
imagination. 

It has been remarked — truthfully, I believe — that 
“ Burke was not greatest as an orator,” that “ the 
best of his speeches are splendid essays,” and that 
“ before an audience, he was often theatrical and 
declamatory,” and frequently ineffective. He had a 
badly regulated voice; and, to say the least, his 
delivery was infelicitous. 

Grattan, his fellow-countryman and ardent ad¬ 
mirer, wrote of him: “ Burke is unquestionably the 
first orator of the Commons of England, notwith¬ 
standing the want of energy, the want of grace, and 
the want of elegance in his manner. ... He was a 
prodigy of nature and of acquisition; he read every¬ 
thing, he saw everything; his knowledge of history 
amounted to a power of foretelling.” 

Erskine, who was equally an admirer of Burke, 
tells us that Burke’s speeches often cleared the 
benches of the House of Commons. It is said that 
Erskine, himself, once crept away beneath the 
benches, to escape listening to a speech of Burke’s, 
which, when it was printed, he read over and over 
again until he had thumbed it to rags. 

Macaulay, a critical student of Burke’s oratory, as 
well as of the general history of his time, says: he was 
“ ignorant, indeed, or negligent, of the art of adapting 




Daniel Webster's Oratory 223 

his reasonings and his style to the capacity and taste 
of his hearers; but, in aptitude to comprehension and 
richness of imagination, superior to every orator, 
ancient or modern. ” 

Earl Russell wrote of Burke: “The fault of his 
mind was that imagination was allowed to prevail 
over judgment, and the fault of his temper was a 
want of patience the events of the French Revo¬ 
lution drove him to a state of frenzy, in which all 
control from reason was lost. 

Mr. Lodge, Webster’s biographer, remarks: — 

“ It maybe conceded at once that, in creative 
imagination and in richness of imagery and lan¬ 
guage, Burke ranks above Webster. But no one 
would ever have said of Webster as Goldsmith 
did of Burke, — 

‘ Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on refining, 

And thought of convincing while they thought of dining.’ ” 

Mr. Webster (his biographer continues) “ never 
sinned by over refinement or over ingenuity; for 
both were utterly foreign to his nature. Still 
less did he impair his power in the Senate, as 
Burke did in the Commons, by talking too often 
and too much. If he did not have the extreme 
beauty and grace of which Burke was capable, 
he was more forcible and struck harder and more 
weighty blows. He was greatly aided in this by 
his brief and measured periods, and his strength 


224 


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was never wasted in long and elaborate sentences. 
Webster, moreover, would never have degener¬ 
ated into the ranting excitement which led 
Burke to draw a knife from his bosom and cast 
it on the floor of the House.” 

Webster’s strongest point, perhaps, was “ his 
absolute good taste.” 

As a specimen of Burke’s invective oratory, I 
invite your attention to the following quotation from 
his speech in the trial of Warren Hastings: — 

“ My Lords, you have now heard the princi¬ 
ples on which Mr. Hastings governs the part of 
Asia subjected to the British empire. Here he 
has declared his opinion that he is a despotic 
prince, that he is to use arbitrary power; and, 
of course, all his acts are covered with that 
shield. ‘ I know,’ says he, ‘ the Constitution of 
Asia only from its practice.’ Will your Lord- 
ships submit to hear the corrupt practices of 
mankind made the principles of Government? 
He, have arbitrary power? My Lords, the East- 
India Company have not arbitrary power to 
give him; the King has no arbitrary power to 
give him; your Lordships have not; nor the 
Commons; nor the whole Legislature. We have 
no arbitrary power to give; because arbitrary 
power is a thing which neither any man can 
hold nor any man can give. No man can law¬ 
fully govern himself according to his own will, 


Daniel Webster’s Oratory 


225 


much less can one person be governed by the 
will of another. We are all born in subjection, 
all born equally — high and low, governors and 
governed — in subjection to one great, immut¬ 
able, preexistent law, prior to all our devices 
and prior to all our contrivances, paramount to 
all our ideas and to all our sensations, — ante¬ 
cedent to our very existence, by which we are 
knit and connected in the eternal frame of the 
universe, out of which we cannot stir. 

“ This great law does not arise from our con¬ 
ventions or compacts; on the contrary, it gives 
to our conventions and compacts all the force 
and sanction they can have; it does not arise 
from our vain institutions. Every good gift is of 
God; all power is of God: and He who has 
given the power, and from whom alone it origi¬ 
nates, will never suffer the exercise of it to be 
practised upon any less solid foundation than the 
power itself. ... We may bite our chains, if we 
will: but we shall be made to know ourselves, 
and be taught that man is bom to be governed 
by law; and he that will substitute will, in the 
place of it, is an enemy of God.” 

This passage from Burke, although plainly denun¬ 
ciatory, is in no way ruthless. It is an appeal to 
reason; and is commendable alike for clearness, im¬ 
passioned earnestness and logical force. But it lacks 
one of the chief essentials of oratory, in the fact that 


226 


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it is so far-reaching in its philosophy — so much 
beyond the ordinary thinking of the average man — 
that it requires a momentary pause for reflection in 
order to its full comprehension. 

Mr. McCall, a member of Congress from Massachu¬ 
setts, referring to Burke — at the Webster Centen¬ 
nial Celebration at Dartmouth College in 1901 — 
said, in a spirit of just appreciation: — 

“ He is, I think, superior to Webster as a 
political philosopher, and also in breadth of in¬ 
formation and imaginative power; but, in the 
excellence of the great mass of oratorical work 
which he left behind him, he does not much sur¬ 
pass Webster, if at all. He presents more gor¬ 
geous passages; but even his most glittering 
fabrics do not imply the intellectual strength 
shown in the simple solidity of Webster. But, 
if it be admitted that he precedes Webster in 
the permanent value of his speeches, — in their 
temporary effect, I do not think he can be 
classed with him. He often shot over the heads 
of his audience, and some of his greatest speeches 
emptied the House of Commons. It was said of 
him that he always seemed to be in a passion. 
Webster never permitted himself to be in a 
frenzy, fine or otherwise.” 

Time forbids my attempting to compare Webster 
with Mirabeau, the great French orator, or with Cas- 


Daniel Webster's Oratory 


227 


telar, the great Spanish orator lately deceased. But, 
were the comparisons made, I believe that, in general, 
they would be to the advantage of Webster. 

Among American orators, Webster is recognized by 
all as the chief. His speeches have entered widely 
into our literature and become a part of the treasured 
products of the nation. They are cherished as are 
those of none of his compeers. They have largely 
shaped the destinies of the country; and, if stricken 
out of existence, would leave a great gap in its history. 
For immediate effectiveness and abiding influence, 
taken together, — I believe that the verdict of the 
ages will be that they stand unequaled. 

Yet it must be acknowledged that, in mere popular 
oratory, Webster was often surpassed; that he had 
not the immediate personal magnetism of Clay, of 
Choate, or of many others. 

In closing, I invite your attention to a few sen¬ 
tences of Webster’s Reply to Hayne, which, being 
somewhat in the nature of invective, may serve for 
comparison with the passages before quoted from 
Demosthenes, Cicero, and Burke: — 

“ Sir, It was put as a question for me to answer, 
and so put as if it were difficult for me to answer, 
whether I deemed the member from Missouri an 
overmatch for myself in debate here. It seems 
to me, Sir, that this is extraordinary language, 
and an extraordinary tone, for the discussions of 
this body. 


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“ Matches and overmatches! Those terms are 
more applicable elsewhere than here, and fitter 
for other assemblies than this. Sir, the gentle¬ 
man seems to forget where and what we are. 
This is a Senate, a Senate of equals, of men of 
individual honor and personal character, and of 
absolute independence. We know no masters, 
we acknowledge no dictators. This is a hall for 
mutual consultation and discussion; not an 
arena for the exhibition of champions. I offer 
myself, Sir, as a match for no man; I throw the 
challenge of debate at no man’s feet. But then, 
Sir, since the honorable member has put the 
question in a manner that calls for an answer, I 
will give him an answer; and I tell him, that, 
holding myself to be the humblest of the mem¬ 
bers here, I yet know nothing in the arm of his 
friend from Missouri, either alone or when aided 
by the arm of his friend from South Carolina, 
that need deter even me from espousing what¬ 
ever opinions I may choose to espouse, from 
debating whenever I may choose to debate, or 
from speaking whatever I may see fit to say, on 
the floor of the Senate. Sir, when uttered as 
matter of commendation or compliment, I should 
dissent from nothing which the honorable mem¬ 
ber might say of his friend. Still less do I put 
forth any pretensions of my own. But when 
put to me as matter of taunt, I throw it back, — 
and say, to the gentleman, that he could possibly 


Daniel Webster's Oratory 


229 


say nothing less likely than such a comparison 
to wound my pride of personal character. The 
anger of its tone rescued the remark from inten¬ 
tional irony, — which otherwise, probably, would 
have been its general acceptation. But, Sir, if it 
be imagined that by this mutual quotation and 
commendation; if it be supposed that, by casting 
the characters of the drama, assigning to each 
his part, to one the attack, to another the cry of 
onset; or if it be thought that, by a loud and 
empty vaunt of anticipated victory, any laurels 
are to be won here; if it be imagined, especially, 
that any or all these things will shake any pur¬ 
pose of mine, I can tell the honorable member, 
once for all, that he is greatly mistaken, and 
that he is dealing with one of whose temper and 
character he has yet much to learn. Sir, I shall 
not allow myself, on this occasion, I hope on no 
occasion, to be betrayed into any loss of temper; 
but if provoked, as I trust I never shall be, into 
crimination and recrimination, the honorable 
member may perhaps find, that, in that contest, 
there will be blows to take as well as blows to 
give; that others can state comparisons as sig¬ 
nificant, at least, as his own, and that his im¬ 
punity may possibly demand of him whatever 
powers of taunt and sarcasm he may possess. I 
commend him to a prudent husbandry of his 
resources/’ 


230 


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These are noble words, uttered in the full conscious¬ 
ness of the dignity of a Senator and of the decorum 
befitting the Senate Chamber. They are, in sub¬ 
stance, a merited protest against personal and partisan 
strifes. Spoken under provocation, they bear no 
trace of animosity, — but dispassionately meet and 
break the force of angry taunts, declare fearlessness of 
purpose, answer empty vaunting with suggestive fore¬ 
warning, and bid defiance to a hostile encounter. 
Considered from a moral standpoint, as well as from 
an intellectual, they are deserving of the highest 
praise. 

To competent and impartial judges, I leave the fur¬ 
ther comparison of Webster’s Reply to Hayne with 
other memorable triumphs of oratory, — confident in 
the belief that, for varied and comprehensive excel¬ 
lence, they will find it unequaled. And, if such be the 
result, then I ask: Why should not Webster be en¬ 
throned, supreme, among the world’s great speakers? 


X 


HINDOO POETRY 

Early in the present century, Lord Byron, Eng¬ 
land’s most gifted romantic poet, tuned his harp to 
the following lines: — 

“ Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle 
Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime, 

Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, 

Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime? 

Know ye the land of the cedar and vine, 

WEere the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine; 
Where the light wings of zephyr, oppressed with perfume, 
Wax faint o’er the gardens of Gull in her bloom; 

Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit, 

And the voice of the nightingale never is mute; 

WEere the tints of the earth and the hues of the sky, 

In color though varied, in beauty may vie, — 

And the purple of ocean is deepest in dye; 

Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine, 

And all save the spirit of man is divine? 

’Tis the clime of the East, ’tis the land of the sun, — 

Can he smile on such deeds as his children have done? 

Oh! wild as the accents of lovers’ farewell 

Are the hearts which they bear and the tales which they tell.” 

Byron, doubtless, was much indebted for his in¬ 
spiration to oriental poetry,— sipping often, prob¬ 
ably, at the sparkling springs of Firdusi and Saadi. 
Other British bards, his contemporaries, likewise 
refreshed their muse at the same source. 


231 


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Yet the richest and most copious fountains of the 
East were then scarcely opened to Europeans; for 
the literature of the great peninsula which lies be¬ 
yond the Indus, and which for more than three thou¬ 
sand years has been the dwelling place of a highly 
civilized population, was but just beginning to be 
known to the Western World. 

And what is the character of this literature? Sur¬ 
prising as it may seem, it is largely poetic. It em¬ 
braces, in metrical form, the four sacred books of the 
Hindoos, known as the Vedas, — two marvelous 
epics, the Maha Bharata and the Ramayana, both of 
remarkable length, — the Laws of Menu, an elaborate 
Brahmanical system of religious social and civil ob¬ 
servances (think of laws written in poetry), the 
Puranas, or legends about the later gods of Brah¬ 
manism, — besides admirable collections of fables, 
hosts of love songs, and numerous dramatic compo¬ 
sitions, many of a high order. All, but the fables 
and the later love songs and dramas, are religious. 

Nearly the whole of this poetic literature, besides 
a large body of Hindoo prose, has been brought to 
our knowledge within a century. Its introduction to 
the Western world constitutes an epoch, second in 
importance only to the revival — during the period 
known as the Renaissance — of acquaintance with 
the Greek and Latin classics. With few exceptions, 
it is ancient — being written in Sanskrit, a language 
disused in popular intercourse more than two thou¬ 
sand years ago. 


Hindoo Poetry 


As all the sacred books of India are in this language, 
the Sanskrit is peculiarly revered. For a long time, 
the Brahmans refused to teach it to foreigners, and 
would scarcely allow so much as a sight of their 
sacred books. Even the powerful influence of the 
East India Company temporarily failed to secure 
such a privilege. But the reluctance of its possessors 
at length was measurably overcome; and the result 
was the publication, for English readers, near the 
close of the eighteenth century, of a Sanskrit gram¬ 
mar and a few translations from the sacred tongue, 
and since then, of an important body of Sanskrit 
literature, rendered into English, French and Ger¬ 
man. A commission, appointed, some years ago, by 
the British East India Government, has catalogued 
over ten thousand separate Sanskrit works, amount¬ 
ing, it is believed, to more than the whole of the 
classic literatures of Greece and Italy combined. 
Some of these works probably are of little account; 
yet the great majority undoubtedly will prove valu¬ 
able. During the last fifty years, professorships of 
the Sanskrit language and literature have been estab¬ 
lished in nearly all the principal universities of 
Europe and America, — thus showing the high 
esteem in which this branch of learning is already 
held. 

The oldest of the poetic books of the Hindoos, 
and indeed of any of the books of India, is the Rig- 
Veda, a collection of hymns including prayers and 
ascriptions of praise to the spirits of their dead ances- 


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tors and to the deified powers of Nature. The word, 
Rig, means praise; and Veda, highest knowledge. 
The hymns are of various authorship. The earliest 
are commonly believed to have been composed about 
2,400 years before Christ; the latest, 1,500 years before 
Christ. They number a thousand and seventeen — 
all, arranged in stanzas of two lines each, called 
astokas. Although originated at so early a period, 
they probably were not written down until about a 
century after the Christian era — when they were in¬ 
scribed, first, on palm leaves, which were kept solely 
for the inspection of the writers. The earliest manu¬ 
scripts which have come down to us date from about 
fifteen hundred years after Christ. It is remarkable 
that, through a period of three thousand years or 
more, the knowledge of the Rig-Veda was transmitted 
simply by oral repetition. 

The hymns are taught only in the schools of the 
Brahmans, or priests, who claim, as their especial 
prerogative, a right to impart a knowledge of them. 
The manner of recital is deemed quite as important 
as the matter; since it is asserted that even the 
accents and accompanying gestures were revealed 
directly from Brahma. 

Every male Hindoo of the Brahmanical faith, ex¬ 
cept those of the lowest castes, is required to learn 
the Rig-Veda by heart. The task is, by no means, 
trifling; since the Rig-Veda is about a third as large 
as our English Bible. Yet, to-day, there are probably 
hundreds of thousands of scholars in India who can 


Hindoo Poetry 


235 


repeat every one of its hymns, with the appropriate 
accents, without a single mistake. 

Before quoting any of the hymns, a few words 
respecting the mythology upon which they are based 
may be desirable. 

The chief gods of the Hindoos are called devas, 
bright ones. The number of devas is commonly said 
to be twelve; although there are nearly three thou¬ 
sand other Hindoo deities or divinities claiming 
recognition. The supreme god, as known by his most 
ancient name, is called Dyaus. From him, according 
to the notion of his worshipers, there appear to have 
sprung other gods, each being a manifestation of the 
Supreme Deity in respect to some of his attributes or 
relations to his creatures, and each being addressed 
by a distinctive name according to the prominence in 
the mind of the worshiper of the particular manifes¬ 
tation. Gradually the consciousness of the identity 
of these gods seems to have faded, although occasion¬ 
ally revived; and each, therefore, was and is invoked 
as supreme. 

The ancient name of the Supreme Being, Dyaus, 
meaning the bright one, was especially connected with 
the bright sky, or heaven above. Accordingly Dyaus, 
the heaven, is represented as married to Prithivi, the 
earth; and the illustrious pair is set forth as the 
parents of later gods. Dyaus and Prithivi nearly cor¬ 
respond to Ouranos and Gaia in the Greek mythology. 

Regarded as brooding over and surrounding the 
earth, the bright sky is personified as Varuna. The 


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hymns addressed to Varuna are beautiful and deeply 
religious. He is set forth as the creator and upholder 
of all things, just as, in our Christian Bible, the Son 
of God is made known to us as the Maker of the 
worlds, the brightness of God’s glory and “ the ex¬ 
press image of his person,” and as “ upholding all 
things by the word of his power.” 

One of the hymns of the Rig-Veda, as translated 
into prose, says: — 

“ Varuna dwells in all worlds, as sovereign; 
indeed the three worlds are embraced by him. 
The wind which resounds through the firmament 
is his breath. He has placed the sun in the 
heavens and opened for it a boundless path. He 
has hollowed out the channels of the rivers. It 
is by his wise contrivance that, though all the 
rivers pour out their waters into the sea, the sea 
is never filled. By his ordinance, the moon 
shines in the sky, and the stars which are visible 
by night disappear on the approach of daylight. 
Neither the birds flying in the air, nor the rivers 
in their sleepless flow, can attain a knowledge 
of his power or his wrath. His spies behold both 
worlds. He himself has a thousand eyes. He 
perceives all the hidden things that have been or 
shall be done.” 

This hymn reminds us of portions of the Psalms 
and of the Book of Job, but especially of the following 
words of Ecclesiastes, or the Preacher: —* 


Hindoo Poetry 


237 


“ One generation passeth away, and another 
generation corneth; but the earth abideth forever. 
The sun also ariseth, and the sun goeth down 
and hasteth to his place where he arose. The 
wind goeth toward the south, and turneth about 
unto the north; it whirleth about continually, 
and the wind returneth again according to his 
circuits. All the rivers run into the sea; yet the 
sea is not full: unto the place from whence the 
rivers come, thither they return again.” 

The Hindoo mind, during the first Vedic period, 
ran back to the conception of a time before the Su¬ 
preme Being had manifested himself in any form, or 
before he had exercised his creative power. This con¬ 
ception seems wonderful, almost inexplicable, in the 
speculative thought of a simple pastoral people such 
as the Aryan tribes were when they first came into 
India. Yet we find it clearly expressed in hymns of 
the Rig-Veda, composed probably as many as four 
thousand years ago. It may be deemed strongly in¬ 
choative of an earlier period of superior knowledge and 
intellectual activity. Can it be otherwise than that 
such a period existed? 

As thus conceived of, Dyaus, the Supreme Being, 
in a state of repose, is termed, objectively, Brahman. 
“ Brahman has no cause, no origin, is not produced 
by anything”; but “is eternal, universal, single, 
independent, free from any characteristics, sovereign.” 
Brahman is neuter, and is referred to only by the 


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neuter pronoun. Brahman is a passive Spirit. But 
when this passive Spirit becomes active, and is recog¬ 
nized as wishing to create what is manifest in Nature, 
including man, then it is designated as Brahma, and 
becomes a masculine person, He, the subsequent 
Creator. 

Of the time when only Brahman existed, an ancient 
Vedic hymn says: — 

“ Nor aught nor naught existed: yon bright sky 
Was not, nor heaven’s broad roof outstretched above. 
What covered all? what sheltered? what concealed? 

Was it the water’s fathomless abyss? 

There was not death; hence was there naught immortal. 
There was no confine betwixt day and night. 

The only One breathed, breathless in itself; 

Other than it, there nothing since has been. 

Darkness there was; and all at first was veiled 
In gloom profound, an ocean without light. 

The germ that still lay covered in the husk 
Burst forth, one nature, from the fervent heat. 

Then first came Love upon it, the new spring 
Of mind, — yea, poets in their hearts discerned, 
Pondering, this bond between created things 
And uncreated.” 

The personal name, Love, as used in the last sen¬ 
tence, was originally expressive of the desire to act — 
to act worthily. Desire must be felt before the will to 
do. It is desire which constitutes the spring of action. 
With such explanation, I repeat the sentence last 
quoted, asking you to bear in mind that the name 
Love is a personification of the desire to act, as first 
formed in intelligent being. 


Hindoo Poetry 


239 


“ Then first came Love upon it, the new spring 
Of mind, — yea, poets in their hearts discerned, 

Pondering, this bond between created things 
And uncreated f — “ Comes this spark from earth, 
Piercing and all-pervading, or from heaven? 

Then seeds were sown, and mighty power arose, 

Nature below, and Power and Will above: 

Who knows the secret? Who proclaimed it here, 
Whence, whence this manifold creation sprang? 

The gods, themselves, came later into being. 

Who knows from whence this great creation sprang? 

He, from whom all this great creation came, 

Whether his will created or was mute, 

The Most High Seer that is in highest heaven, 

He knows it.” 

Here is a prose translation of portions of a hymn 
to Brahma, the one God: — 

“ In the beginning, there arose the source of golden 
light. He was the only born lord of all that is. He 
established the earth and the sky.” ... a He who gives 
life, He who gives strength, whose blessing all the bright 
gods desire, whose shadow is immortality,” . . . “ He 
who is the only life of the bright gods,” ... a He who 
is God above all gods ”: . . . “ May he not destroy us! ” 

Another hymn says: — 

“ Wise poets make the beautiful-winged one manifold, 
by words, though he is but one.” 

Another says: — 

“ Thou, Agni [god of fire] art Indra [god of air and rain], 
bountiful to the excellent; thou art Vishnu [god of the 
mm], the wide-stepping [the sun being represented as 


240 


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traversing the heavens in three strides, with his rising, 
culminating and setting ]; Son of strength, in thee reside 
all the gods.” 

From these hymns, it is manifest that Hindoo 
mythology has an unmistakable background of mono¬ 
theism, or faith in but one God. 

Edwin Arnold, in his India Revisited, denies that 
the Hindoos are polytheists. He says that all their 
“ various gods and sacred objects are, for the edu¬ 
cated Indian, mere ‘ aids to faith/ manifestations, 
more or less appropriate and elevated, of the all- 
pervading and undivided Para-Brahm that “ even 
the poor peasant of the fields and the gentle Hindoo 
wife, perambulating a peepul tree, smeared with red, 
will tell you that the symbol they reverence is only 
a symbol.” 

Yet the number of hymns or prayers in the Rig- 
Veda which distinctly recognize the existence of one 
only God is but few. Unfortunately the original 
monotheism of India is now deeply clouded; and, 
although accepted by educated Hindoos, is but feebly 
comprehended and doubtfully held by the masses. 

Among the most beautiful of the secondary Hindoo 
deities is Ushas, the dawn — a pure white-robed 
being, from whose presence every dark tiling flees 
away. The sky behind the dawn, from which she 
emerges, is personified as Aditi, the boundless. Aditi 
is one of the oldest of the Vedic deities. She is asso¬ 
ciated in thought with the infinite; since the limit of 
her realm is unknown. As Ushas comes thence, 


Hindoo Poetry 


241 


every morning, bringing the joyful light of day, the 
abode of Aditi is looked upon as the home of the 
bright gods. The hopeful Hindoo therefore pictures 
it as the heaven into which his soul, after it has passed 
through various transmigrations, will be admitted. 
He believes that, at last, he will be laid to rest in the 
bosom of Mother Earth; that his purified spirit — 
accepted by Yama, the judge of the dead — will be 
received into companionship with the fathers, in the 
realms of light; and that eventually he will be swal¬ 
lowed up in life and immortality, or absorbed into 
Brahman. This idea is partly expressed in the follow¬ 
ing funeral hymn: — 

“ Open thy arms, O Earth, receive the dead 
With gentle pressure and with loving welcome: 
Embrace him tenderly, e’en as a mother 
Folds her soft vestment round the child she loves. 

Soul of the dead! depart: take thou the path — 

The ancient path — by which our ancestors 
Have gone before thee. Thou shalt look upon 
The two kings, mighty Varuna and Yama, 

Delighting in oblations. Thou shalt meet 
The fathers, and receive the recompense 
Of all thy stored-up offerings above. 

Leave thou thy sin and imperfection here; 

Return unto thy home once more; assume 
A glorious form. By an auspicious path, 

• • • • • 

Advance to meet the fathers who, with hearts 

Kindly disposed towards thee, dwell in bliss 
With Yama; and do thou, 0 Mighty God! 

Intrust him to thy guards to bring him to thee, 

And grant him health and happiness eternal.” 


242 


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To the student of comparative mythology, the Rig- 
Veda is of great value. Believed to be, with but 
two exceptions,* the oldest book known to the world, 
it is regarded as shedding the strongest light upon 
the ancient myths common to various branches of 
the Aryan race. In the Rig-Veda, we find, for in¬ 
stance, the original story of the birth of the goddess 
of wisdom, Ahana, — who is the same as Ushas, the 
personified dawn. She is said to have sprung, com¬ 
plete in all her beauty and possessing all her charms, 
from the head of Dyaus, — just as, in the Greek 
mythology, Athene is said to have sprung, full-armed, 
from the head of Zeus, — and as, in the Latin myth¬ 
ology, Minerva, from the head of Jupiter. The ex¬ 
planation is obvious. The dawn is the child of the 
eastern sky, the primal source of light; and, as in her 
coming she sheds the first beams of day, so she 
brings all things to view and opens the pathway to 
knowledge. 

The Rig-Veda is of great value also to the student 
of comparative philology, or of the kinship of lan¬ 
guages spoken by different branches of the Aryan 
stock. Not many years ago, the language of the 
Vedas was supposed to be the parent of nearly all the 
European tongues. Now, however, it is known to 
have sprung from an earlier form of Aryan speech 

* A part of the Egyptian Book of the Dead is thought to have 
been written more than three thousand years b.c.; and portions, 
at least, of the Babylonian poem of “ Ishtar and Izdubar,” about 
2000 b.c. 



Hindoo Poetry 


243 


that doubtless was the mother of the later languages 
to which the Sanskrit is akin. Thus, in Sanskrit, we find 
pitar, for father, — in ancient Persian, patar, —in Latin, 
pater ,—in Celtic, athair , — and in Teutonic, fadar. 

From investigation of words, common to various 
languages of the Aryan family, we learn, too, some¬ 
thing of the prehistoric character of the Race. We 
find the word pitar, father, means he who protects 
and supports; swaser, sister, she who consoles and 
pleases; duhitar, daughter, a milkmaid. In Sanskrit, 
the patriarch of a tribe, is called the “ lord of the 
cattle.” From various words and phrases, it is evi¬ 
dent that our Aryan ancestors were engaged chiefly 
in pastoral pursuits. They had oxen, sheep, horses, 
and dogs. Even to-day, in India, the cow is peculiarly 
revered. Good Brahmans, it is said, will feed a cow 
before they take their own breakfast, exclaiming, 
“ Daughter of Surabhi! formed of five elements, aus¬ 
picious, pure, and holy, sprung from the sun, accept 
this food from me. Salutation and peace! ” 

The Aryans also were agricultural. They raised 
wheat, barley, flax and hemp. They must have been 
considerably civilized: for they were organized into 
village communities; dwelt in well-built houses, sur¬ 
rounded by walls; and had roads suitable for wheel- 
carriages. 

They knew something too of river navigation; for 
all the Aryan languages have the words, boat, rudder 
and oar. Yet it is manifest that they lived inland; 
since there is no common word for ocean. 


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The Rig-Veda was sung, it is said, in the valley of 
the Indus River, before the Aryans had penetrated far 
into India, It is deemed, therefore, our authority for 
the earliest manners and customs of our ancestors, as 
well as for their simple and childlike beliefs. Max 
Muller remarks, “ The whole history of the world 
would be incomplete without this first chapter in the 
life of Aryan humanity which has been preserved to 
us in Vedic literature.” He further says: “ While 
Hesiod gives us a past theogony, we see in the Veda 
the theogony itself, the very birth and growth of the 
gods — that is, of the word for gods, — and in its 
later hymns, the subsequent development of these 
divine conceptions.” 

No translations of any of the hymns of the Rig- 
Veda were made before the year 1833. Between 1848 
and 1857, the entire book was rendered into English 
by Mr. Wilson. It was a work of great labor — not 
only from the want of linguistic helps, but also be¬ 
cause of the obscurity of the mythology and the 
strangeness of the manners, customs, etc., to which 
it referred. When the translation was finished, Mr. 
Wilson called upon a prominent London publisher; 
and modestly informed him that he had a treasure to 
offer, the Rig-Veda. But, so little known at that 
time in Europe was this wonderful sacred book, that 
the publisher, looking at him with a blank stare, 
replied: “ Pray, sir, what is the Rig-Veda? ” 

Considered with reference to its poetic merit, the 
Rig-Veda is inferior to the Book of Job, which, until 


Hindoo Poetry 


245 


recently, was believed by many to be the most ancient 
of the Semitic writings. It seldom attains such 
heights of sublimity; nor, in general, is it character¬ 
ized by such strength of thought; neither is the 
grandeur of its composition so well sustained. Yet 
many of its hymns are unquestionably of a high order. 

Of the three later Vedas, it may be remarked that 
they consist almost wholly of liturgies for worship 
and rules for sacrifices. As long periods of time inter¬ 
vene between the several compositions, they differ 
somewhat in character — growing more metaphysical 
and more complex and refined. But I must forbear 
to discuss them. 

Turning now to the oldest of the Indian epics, I 
will speak briefly of the “ Maha Bharata.” Bharata 
is a proper name; the prefix Maha means great. The 
poem, therefore, must be understood as relating to the 
great Bharata, a famous Indian warrior. Mr. Talboys 
Wheeler, the historian of India, says: 1 ‘ The 1 Maha 
Bharata ’ is the most voluminous and, perhaps, the 
most valuable epic which has hitherto been preserved 
in any written language.” Rendered into English, it 
would make a dozen good-sized octavo volumes. It 
is at least seven times as long as the Iliad and Odyssey 
of Homer combined. No complete translation of it 
has yet been made. 

The Maha Bharata doubtless was a collection of 
ballads originally sung to some rajah. It is there¬ 
fore wanting in unity. The events of which it treats 
belong to the early Brahmanical period, or to a time 


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when the Aryan invaders had penetrated Hindoostan 
no farther than to the site of the present City of 
Delhi. The principal action of the poem relates to a 
quarrel between the Kauravas and the Pandavas, 
who were first cousins, and were descendants of the 
great Bharata. It was a struggle between kinsmen 
for land and throne. Some interpreters regard the 
poem as symbolic, typifying the struggle between 
light and darkness or between the principles of good 
and evil. They declare that the heroes are the same 
as the gods of the Rig-Veda, the Pandavas represent¬ 
ing the good, the beautiful and the strong, and the 
Kauravas, the wicked and the weak. 

The favorite hero, in Hindoo esteem, is Yudistliira, 
the chief or rajah of the Pandavas. In general, he is 
cold and passionless; but he has lofty principles and 
ambitions. His supporters triumph, and he gains the 
throne. Yet he is unsatisfied. He feels that true 
happiness and peace of mind must be found in the 
renunciation of worldly things and in a union with the 
Infinite. By many scholars, the first idea of such a 
renunciation and of a union with the Divine Being 
was long believed to have been developed originally 
in the teachings of Christ, especially as recorded in 
St. John’s gospel; but it now appears that it is as 
ancient as the oldest Aryan records, although un¬ 
known in the literatures of Greece and Rome. 

Yudisthira tells his four brethren and his and 
their one wife (for the practice of polyandry then 
prevailed) of his purpose to renounce the throne and 


Hindoo Poetry 


247 


set out to seek the heaven of Indra. Clothed in the 
garments of pilgrims, all of them wander forth to¬ 
gether, accompanied by a favorite dog. One by one, 
they drop away, until at length only the self-denying 
Yudisthira and his dog are left. They reach the gate 
of Heaven; but Indra will not admit the dog. Yudis¬ 
thira refuses to enter without his beloved and faith¬ 
ful brute companion, and Indra then opens the gate 
to both. The hero inquires for his brethren and 
wife, and is informed that they are in hell. But let 
the poem tell the rest.* 

“ Show me those souls! 

I cannot tarry where I have them not. 

Bliss is not blissful, just and mighty Ones! 

Save I rest beside them. Heaven is there 
Where Love and faith make heaven. Let me go! 

And answer made the hearkening heavenly Ones: 

Go, if it seemeth good to thee, dear son! 

The King of gods commands we do thy will. 

So saying, the sage went on: Dharma’s own voice 
Gave ordinance; and from the shining bands 
A golden Deva glided, taking host 
To guide the King there where his kinsmen were. 

So wended these — the holy angel first, — 

And in his steps, the King, close following. 

Together passed they through the gates of pearl, 
Together heard them close; then to the left — 
Descending by a path evil and dark, 

Hard to be traversed, rugged, — enter they 


* The following translation is from Sir Edwin Arnold’s Indian 
Idylls. See footnote hereafter, on page 249. 



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The Sinners’ Hoad. The tread of sinful feet 
Matted the thick thorns carpeting its slope; 

The smell of sin hung foul on them; the mire 
About their roots was trampled filth of flesh, 

Horrid with rottenness and splashed with gore 
Curdling in crimson puddles, where there buzzed 
And sucked and settled creatures of the swamp, 

Hideous in wing and sting — gnat-clouds and flies, 

With moths, toads, newts and snakes red-gulleted. 

• «#•••••••• 

A burning forest shut the roadside in 
On either hand; and, ’mid its crackling boughs, 

Perched ghastly birds, — or flapped amidst the flames, 
Vultures and kites and crows, with brazen plumes 
And beaks of iron: and these grisly fowl 
Screamed to the shrieks of Prets — lean famished ghosts, 
Featureless, eyeless, having pin-point mouths, 

Hungering, but hard to fill, — all, swooping down. 

By such a path, the King passed, sore-afeard, 

If* he hail known of fear . . . 

The Asipatra wood 
Spread black in sight, whereof the undergrowth 
Was sword-blades. . . . 

Next to this, 

Strewn deep with fiery sands, an awful waste 
Wherethrough the wicked toiled with blistering feet 

.Last, the gorge 

Of Kutashala Mali — frightful gate 
Of utmost Hell, with utmost horrors filled. 

Deadly and nameless were the plagues seen there; 

Which, when the monarch reached, nigh overborne 
By terrors and the reek of tortured flesh, 

Unto the angel spake he: * Whither goes 
This hateful road; and where be they I seek, 





Hindoo Poetry 


249 


Yet find not? ’ Answer made the heavenly One: 
Hither, great King, it was commanded me 
To bring thy steps. If thou be’st overborne, 

It is commanded that I lead thee back 
To where the Gods wait.” 

The most fearful lines in this description of Hell, I 
have purposely omitted. They are too horrid for any 
one who is not compelled to read them, as a student 
of literature, — more dreadful even than anything in 
Dante’s Inferno. Yet they show a wonderful power 
of imagination and a picturesque realism, couched in 
language the awfulness of which is unsurpassed in 
the whole range of the world’s poetry.* 

We must not leave Yudisthira in the dismal abode. 
Overcome with the dreadful scene, and spent with 
the toil of his wretched travel, he turns heavenward. 
But he hears his kindred, pleading that he will tarry 
and comfort them — 

“ These pleadings, wailings all around the place, — 

.words of woe, 

Humble and eager! — and compassion seized 

His lordly mind. 1 Poor souls unknown! ’ he sighed, 

And hellwards turned anew r . . . 

• «••••••«• 


* Readers who wish to see the omitted lines above mentioned 
will find them in Sir Edwin Arnold’s translation of Indian 
Idylls, included in the published collections of his poetry. These 
lines are in the last of the idylls; and are embraced in its con¬ 
cluding section — under the title, The Entry into Heaven. The 
translation is from the Sanskrit of the Swargarohana Parva of 
the Maha Bharata (see Vol. iv of tire Calcutta Quarto Edition). 




250 


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That soul, fear could not shake, nor trials tire, 

Burned terrible with tenderness; the while 
His eyes searched all the gloom, his planted feet 
Stood fast in the mid horrors. Well-nigh, then, 

He cursed the gods; well-nigh that steadfast mind 
Broke from its faith in virtue. But he staid 
TIT indignant passion, softly speaking this 
Unto the angel: ‘ Go to those thou serv’st; 

Tell them I come not thither. Say I stand 
Here in the throat of Hell, and here will bide — 

Nay, if I perish — while my well-beloved 
Win ease and peace by any pains of mine.’ 

Whereupon naught replied the shining One; 

But straight repaired unto the upper light, 

Where Sakra sat above the gods, and spake 
Before the gods the message of the King. 
«•••»•• 

At hearing and at knowing that high deed, 

• ••••••••• 

The Presence of Paradise uprose, 

Each Splendor in his place, — God Sakra chief: 

Together rose they, and together stepped 
Down from their thrones, treading the nether road 
Where Yudisthira tarried. Sakra led 
The shining van; and Dharma, lord of laws, 

Paced, glorious, next. O Son of Bharata! 

While that celestial company came down — 

Pure as the white stars sweeping through the sky, 

And brighter than their brilliance — look! — Hell’s shades 
Melted before them; warm gleams drowned the gloom; 

Soft lovely scenes rolled over the ill sights; 

Peace calmed the cries of torment; in its bed, 

The boiling river shrank, quiet and clear; 

The Asipatra Vana — awful wood — 

Blossomed with colors; all those cruel blades 


Hindoo Poetry 


251 


And dreadful rocks and piteous scattered wreck 
Of writhing bodies, where the King had passed, 
Vanished as dreams fade. Cool and fragrant went 
A wind before their faces, as these gods 
Drew, radiant, to the presence of the King.” 

Indra then tells him that all he has seen were illu¬ 
sions, to try his character; that his four brethren and 
wife are in heaven; and that he will return thither, 
and dwell, happy, with them forever. 

There are many episodes in the poem — some of 
them, sportive. One relates to the adventures of the 
playful god, Krishna, who was married to sixteen 
thousand damsels, each of whom thought herself his 
only wife. But Krishna is merely the bright sun, 
who brings joyful radiance to thousands of dewdrops. 

By the Hindoos, the Maha Bharata is regarded 
with awful reverence. To read, or even to listen to 
the reading, of its wonderful words will for the time 
being prevent sin and insure prosperity on earth and 
eternal happiness in heaven. 

The close of the Maha Bharata is remarkably 
grand. Mr. Alger, a good oriental scholar, calls it 
“ the culminating point of the poetry of the world.” 

Respecting the age of this epic, critics are much at 
variance. Some place it at about fifteen hundred 
years before Christ, or not far from the period of the 
exodus of the Children of Israel from Egypt; others 
set it as late as 200 b.c. Perhaps six or seven hun¬ 
dred years before Christ would be more nearly correct. 

The second great epic of India, the Ramayana, is 


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later. Hindoo society, at the period of its composi¬ 
tion, had passed from the feudal state into one in 
which the Brahmans, or priests, exercised great 
power. The Laws of Menu were established; and 
under these and other rules, the inferior castes were 
sorely oppressed. The Brahmans claimed to be 
divine, bom from the mouth of Brahma, and enti¬ 
tled, by their superior origin and sole right to teach 
the Rig-Veda, to rule over all other mortals. Even 
kings were to obey them. They prescribed innumer¬ 
able penances and sacrifices; inflicted loss of caste; 
and, in some instances, punished offenders by declar¬ 
ing their souls doomed to transmigration into the 
bodies of lower animals. Human nature was bur¬ 
dened, by their oppressions, beyond endurance. 

At length, between five and six hundred years 
before Christ, a reformer arose, in the person of 
Sakya Muni, the founder of Boodhism. He denied 
that the Vedas were revealed or of infallible authority, 
that Brahmas were of divine origin, that caste was 
entitled to recognition, that formal sacrifices, irre¬ 
spective of pure and noble lives, would take away 
sin. He urged the renunciation of all that ministers 
most to our worldly pleasures, and recommended 
indulgence in contemplative repose, each, as a means 
of subduing inordinate desire. The ultimate reward 
of such a life, he announced, would be the sinking of 
the soul into a blissful Nirvana, 

But what is Nirvana? Formerly it was defined by 
European and American scholars as annihilation: 


Hindoo Poetry 


and, even now, it is asserted by some that it is prac¬ 
tically such; since it is concluded that it is the utter 
destruction of the senses and the will, although not 
of the body or the soul. Edwin Arnold defines it as 
“ the unspeakable perfected state beyond all such 
existence as our senses can know, that peace of 
heaven which 1 passeth all understanding.’ ” A 
Boodhist chief priest declares that “ Nirvana is by 
no means annihilation, but life beyond the life of the 
senses, more truly life than we living can know, ‘ a 
peace which passeth understanding.’ ” 

Boodhism spread rapidly. A little more than 
three hundred years later, it became the state religion 
of India. But, from the beginning, it recognized no 
Supreme Being; its only god was what man himself 
could become. It was therefore, in effect, but little 
else than atheism, — in a strict sense, no religion, but 
only a system of morals. 

In a country, therefore, where intelligence was 
widely diffused, and where hundreds of thousands 
had been made acquainted with the one God, it failed 
to answer the demands of the human heart. 

Accordingly there came a reaction; a religious war 
ensued, and the Boodhists were driven out of India 
into Ceylon and Burmah. 

The poem, Ramayana, relates to the events of this 
war. The hero, Rama, is an incarnation of the god 
Vishnu; and the heroine, Sita, of the goddess Lakshmi. 

In the struggle which ensued, Rama and his fol¬ 
lowers were resisted by giants and demons. But the 


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former were not left to fight alone. Rama sum¬ 
moned to his aid the bears and monkeys of the 
Dekkan — the latter believed to be descended from 
the gods, and to be incarnated saints and Brahmans, 
stronger and better than men, who still possessed 
supernatural powers, and were capable of speech. 
Hanuman, their leader, was a model of every virtue. 
On reaching Southern India, in pursuit of their ene¬ 
mies, Hanuman made a flying leap from the main¬ 
land, across the intervening strait, to the Island of 
Ceylon. He and his four-handed companions built a 
bridge of stone for the passage of Rama and his host. 
The chain of rocks now extending across the strait, 
rendering it unnavigable, is believed by the Booclh- 
ists to be the remains of this bridge. 

The moral tone of the Ramayana is far above that 
of the Iliad. It teaches the hopelessness of victory 
without purity of soul and without abnegation of 
self. In one thing, all critics of the poem agree, 
namely, in unbounded admiration of its high char¬ 
acter. The civilization which it describes is so un¬ 
like our own that, as we contemplate it, we seem to 
be living in another world. The customs it sets forth 
are such as we can hardly realize. In some parts, it 
is as marvelous as a fairy tale, yet as simple as a 
child’s prattle. Its pictures of scenery are exquisite. 

A few words descriptive of the City of Ayodha — 
then the most magnificent in India — may be quoted, 
mainly as they appear in the prose translation by 
Talboys Wheeler: — 


Hindoo Poetry 


255 


“ . . . Temples richly decorated; stately 
palaces, with domes like mountain tops, — sur¬ 
rounded by pleasant gardens, full of birds and 
flowers, and by shady groves loaded with de¬ 
licious fruits. The tanks were magnificent, cov¬ 
ered all over with the white lotus. The city 
was perfumed with flowers and incense, — 
decked with gorgeous banners, — and ever filled 
with the sweet sound of music, the sharp twang¬ 
ing of bows, and the holy chanting of Vedic 
hymns. Round about it were lofty walls, set with 
variously colored jewels; and outside was a moat 
filled with water, deep and impassable. No one 
was poor, or wore soiled garments; no one was 
without fine raiment and perfumes, or was un¬ 
clean, or fed upon unclean things, or neglected 
the sacraments, or gave less than a thousand 
rupees to the Brahmans. No man was without 
learning, or practised a calling that did not 
belong to his family or caste, or dwelt in a mean 
habitation, or was without children and kinsmen. 
Inspecting the world by his spies, as the sun 
inspects it by his rays, the Maharaja found no 
person of hostile mind; and he shone resplendent, 
and illuminated the whole earth.” 


Often, in the cool of evening, a Brahman priest 
appears in an Indian village, and reads, from strips 
of palm-leaves, portions of the Ramayana to the 
humble listeners who crowd around him. They hang 


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upon his words with devout attention; for, to them, 
it is a deeply religious poem. They regard it with 
the same awful reverence as the Maha Bharata, and 
give to it attentive heed; since it closes with the 
promise that whoever reads or listens to it will be 
freed from all sin. 

I would gladly speak of later Indian poetry, es 
pecially of the love songs and the dramas, but must 
refrain. 

I close with a single passage — remarkable for the 
boldness and impressive beauty of its imagery — 
from a hymn to Vishnu, contained in the famous 
Gita Govinda, or Indian Song of Songs, as translated 
by Arnold: — 

“ Endless praise arises, 

O thou God that liest, 

Rapt, on Kumla’s breast, 

Happiest, holiest, highest! — 

Planets are thy jewels, 

Stars thy forehead-gems, 

Set like sapphires gleaming 
In kingliest anadems; 

Even the great gold Sun-God, 

Blazing through the sky, 

Serves thee but for crest-stone, 

Jai, jai! Hari, jai! — 

As that Lord of day, 

After night, brings morrow, 

Thou dost charm away 
Life’s long dream of sorrow. 

As on Mansa’s water 
Brood the swans at rest, 


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257 


So thy laws sit stately 
On a holy breast. 

Thou Shaker of the Mountain! 

Thou Shadow of the Storm! 

Thou Cloud that unto Lakshmi’s face 
Comes welcome, white, and warm! 

O thou — who, to great Lakshmi, 

Art like the silvery beam 

Which moon-sick chakors feed upon 

By Jumna’s silent stream, — 

To thee this hymn ascendeth, 

That Jayadev doth sing, 

Of worship, love, and mystery; 

High Lord and heavenly King! ” 


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